UC-NRLF 


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JOHN 


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The  Fifth  String 


be  FiftL 


John  Philip 


Howard  Chandler  Cbr 


The  lone 'occupant  of  the  box 


The  Fifth  String 


By 

John  Philip  Sous  a 


The  Illustrations  by 
Howard  Chandler  Christy 


Indianapolis 

The  Bow  en- Merrill  Company 
Publishers 


Copyright  1902 
Bow  en-Merrill  Company 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &   CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND   PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,   N.  Y. 


The  Fifth  String 


ACADEMYo/MUSIC 

DECEMBER   i2TH-^8:oo  P.  M. 

HRST   APPEARANCE    IN   AMERICA    OF 

THE  RENOWNED  TUSCAN 

VIOLINIST 

ANGELO 
DIOTTI 

ASSISTED    BY 

ARTISTS  OF  INTERNATIONAL 
REPUTATION 

DIRECTION    OF    MR.    HENRY    PERKINS 


SECOND  CONCERT  OF  SIGNOR  DIOTTI 
DECEMBER   14™ 


The  Fifth  String 


coming  of  Diotti  to  America 
had  awakened  more  than  usual  in 
terest  in  the  man  and  his  work.  His 
marvelous  success  as  violinist  in  the 
leading  capitals  of  Europe,  together  with 
many  brilliant  contributions  to  the  lit 
erature  of  his  instrument,  had  long  been 
favorably  commented  on  by  the  critics 
of  the  old  world.  Many  stories  of  his 
struggles  and  his  triumphs  had  found 
their  way  across  the  ocean  and  had  been 
read  and  re-read  with  interest. 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

Therefore,  when  Mr.  Henry  Perkins, 
the  well-known  impresario,  announced 
with  an  air  of  conscious  pride  and  par 
donable  enthusiasm  that  he  had  secured 
Diotti  for  a  " limited"  number  of  con 
certs,  Perkins'  friends  assured  that 
wide-awake  gentleman  that  his  fore 
sight  amounted  to  positive  genius,  and 
they  predicted  an  unparalleled  success 
for  his  star.  On  account  of  his  wonder 
ful  ability  as  player,  Diotti  was  a  fa 
vorite  at  half  the  courts  of  Europe,  and 
the  astute  Perkins  enlarged  upon  this 
fact  without  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
the  courts  or  the  violinist. 

On  the  night  preceding  Diotti's  de 
but  in  New  York,  he  was  the  center  of 
attraction  at  a  reception  given  by  Mrs. 
Llewellyn,  a  social  leader,  and  a  devoted 
patron  of  the  arts.  The  violinist  made 
a  deep  impression  on  those  fortunate 
enough  to  be  near  him  during  the  even- 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

ing.  He  won  the  respect  of  the  men 
by  his  observations  on  matters  of  inter 
national  interest,  and  the  admiration  of 
the  gentler  sex  by  his  chivalric  estimate 
of  woman's  influence  in  the  world's 
progress,  on  which  subject  he  talked 
with  rarest  good  humor  and  delicately 
implied  gallantry. 

During  one  of  those  sudden  and  unex- 
plainable  lulls  that  always  occur  in  gen 
eral  drawing-room  conversations,  Diot- 
ti  turned  to  Mrs.  Llewellyn  and  whis 
pered  :  u  Who  is  the  charming  young 
woman  just  entering  ?" 

"  The  beauty  in  white?" 

"  Yes,  the  beauty  in  white,"  softly 
echoing  Mrs.  Llewellyn's  query.  He 
leaned  forward  and  with  eager  eyes 
gazed  in  admiration  at  the  new-comer. 
He  seemed  hypnotized  by  the  vision, 
which  moved  slowly  from  between  the 
blue-tinted  portieres  and  stood  for  the 
3 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

instant,  a  perfect  embodiment  of  radi 
ant  womanhood,  silhouetted  against  the 
silken  drapery. 

"That  is  Miss  Wallace,  Miss  Mildred 
Wallace,  only  child  of  one  of  New 
York's  prominent  bankers." 

"  She  is  beautiful — a  queen  by  divine 
right,"  cried  he,  and  then  with  a  min 
gling  of  impetuosity  and  importunity, 
entreated  his  hostess  to  present  him. 

And  thus  they  met. 

Mrs.  Llewellyn's  entertainments  were 
celebrated,  and  justly  so.  At  her  re 
ceptions  one  always  heard  the  best  singers 
and  players  of  the  season,  and  Epicurus' 
soul  could  rest  in  peace,  for  her  chef  had 
an  international  reputation.  Oh,  re 
member,  you  music-fed  ascetic,  many, 
aye,  very  many,  regard  the  transition 
from  Tschaikowsky  to  terrapin,  from 
Beethoven  to  burgundy  with  hearts 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

aflame  with  anticipatory  joy — and  Mrs. 
Llewellyn's  dining-room  was  crowded. 

Miss  Wallace  and  Diotti  had  wan 
dered  into  the  conservatory. 

"  A  desire  for  happiness  is  our  com 
mon  heritage,"  he  was  saying  in  his 
richly  melodious  voice. 

"  But  to  define  what  constitutes  hap 
piness  is  very  difficult,"  she  replied. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  he  went  on;  "  if 
the  motive  is  clearly  within  our  grasp, 
the  attainment  is  possible." 

"  For  example?  "  she  asked. 

"The  miser  is  happy  when  he  hoards 
his  gold;  the  philanthropist  when  he 
distributes  his.  The  attainment  is  iden 
tical,  but  the  motives  are  antipodal." 

"  Then  one  possessing  sufficient  mo 
tives  could  be  happy  without  end?  '3 
she  suggested  doubtingly. 

"  That  is  my  theory.  The  Niobe  of 
old  had  happiness  within  her  power." 

5 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  The  gods  thought  not,"  said  she; 
"  in  their  very  pity  they  changed  her 
into  stone,  and  with  streaming  eyes  she 
ever  tells  the  story  of  her  sorrow." 

"  But  are  her  children  weeping? v 
he  asked.  "  I  think  not.  Happiness 
can  bloom  from  the  seeds  of  deepest 
woe,"  and  in  a  tone  almost  reverential, 
he  continued  :  "I  remember  a  picture  in 
one  of  our  Italian  galleries  that  always 
impressed  me  as  the  ideal  image  of 
maternal  happiness.  It  is  a  painting  of 
the  Christ-mother  standing  by  the  body 
of  the  Crucified.  Beauty  was  still  hers, 
and  the  dress  of  grayish  hue,  nun-like  in 
its  simplicity,  seemed  more  than  royal 
robe.  Her  face,  illumined  as  with  a  light 
from  heaven,  seemed  inspired  with  this 
thought :  '  They  have  killed  Him — they 
have  killed  my  son  !  Oh,  God,  I  thank 
Thee  that  His  suffering  is  at  an  end! ' 
And  as  I  gazed  at  the  holy  face,  an- 
6 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

other  light  seemed  to  change  it  by  de 
grees  from  saddened  motherhood  to 
triumphant  woman!  Then  came:  '  He 
is  not  dead,  He  but  sleeps  •  He  will 
rise  again,  for  He  is  the  best  beloved 
of  the  Father!'  " 

"  Still,  fate  can  rob  us  of  our  patri 
mony,"  she  replied,  after  a  pause. 

"Not  while  life  is  here  and  eternity 
beyond,"  he  said,  reassuringly. 

"What  if  a  soul  lies  dormant  and 
will  not  arouse?  "  she  asked. 

"There  are  souls  that  have  no  motive 
low  enough  for  earth,  but  only  high 
enough  for  heaven,"  he  said,  with  evi 
dent  intention,  looking  almost  directly 
at  her. 

"  Then  one  must  come  who  speaks 
in  nature's  tongue,"  she  continued. 

"  And  the  soul  will  then  awake,"  he 
added  earnestly. 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  But  is  there  such  a  one  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  almost  whispered,  his 
thought  father  to  the  wish. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  she  sighed.  "  I 
studied  drawing,  worked  diligently  and, 
I  hope,  intelligently,  and  yet  I  was 
quickly  convinced  that  a  counterfeit 
presentment  of  nature  was  puny  and  in 
significant.  I  painted  Niagara.  My 
friends  praised  my  effort.  I  saw  Ni 
agara  again — I  destroyed  the  picture." 

' c  But  you  must  be  prepared  to  ac 
cept  the  limitations  of  man  and  his 
work,"  said  the  philosophical  violinist. 

" Annihilation  of  one's  own  identity 
in  the  moment  is  possible  in  nature's 
domain — never  in  man's.  The  resist 
less,  never-ending  rush  of  the  waters, 
madly  churning,  pitilessly  dashing 
against  the  rocks  below;  the  mighty 
roar  of  the  loosened  giant;  that  was 
8 


owofc 


THE     F 

the 

"  Perhaps," 
thought  fat 

studied 
I  hope 


effort.     I  saw  Ni- 

re." 

to  ac- 

il  viol i 

-sist- 

;lly     cl. 

inst   the   rocks   below;    the   mi 
of   the   loosenec  ;    that 

1  see  each  ivory  key  bobbing:  up  and  down 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

Niagara.  My  picture  seemed  but  a 
smear  of  paint." 

"  Still,  man  has  won  the  admiration 
of  man  by  his  achievements,"  he  said. 

"Alas,  for  me,"  she  sighed,  "  I  have 
not  felt  it." 

u  Surely  you  have  been  stirred  by  the 
wonders  man  has  accomplished  in  mu 
sic's  realm?"  Diotti  ventured. 

"  I  never  have  been."  She  spoke 
sadly  and  reflectively. 

' '  But  does  not  the  passion-laden  theme 
of  a  master,  or  the  marvelous  feeling  of 
a  player  awaken  your  emotions?"  per 
sisted  he. 

She  stood  leaning  lightly  against  a 
pillar  by  the  fountain.  "  I  never  hear  a 
pianist,  however  great  and  famous,  but 
I  see  the  little  cream-colored  hammers 
within  the  piano  bobbing  up  and  down 
like  acrobatic  brownies.  I  never  hear 
the  plaudits  of  the  crowd  for  the 

9 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

artist  and  watch  him  return  to  bow  his 
thanks,  but  I  mentally  demand  that 
these  little  acrobats,  each  resting  on  an 
individual  pedestal,  and  weary  from  his 
efforts,  shall  appear  to  receive  a  share 
of  the  applause. 

"When  I  listen  to  a  great  singer," 
continued  this  world-defying  skeptic, 
"  trilling  like  a  thrush,  scampering  over 
the  scales,  I  see  a  clumsy  lot  of  ah,  ah, 
ahs,  awkwardly,  uncertainly  ambling  up 
the  gamut,  saying,  'were  it  not  for  us 
she  could  not  sing  thus — give  us  our 
meed  of  praise.'  " 

Slowly  he  replied:  " Masters  have 
written  in  wondrous  language  and  mas 
ters  have  played  with  wondrous  power." 

"And  I  so  long  to  hear,"  she  said, 
almost  plaintively.  "  I  marvel  at  the 
invention  of  the  composer  and  the  skill 
of  the  player,  but  there  I  cease." 

He  looked  at  her  intently.     She  was 

10 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

standing  before  him,  not  a  block  of 
chiseled  ice,  but  a  beautiful,  breathing 
woman.  He  offered  her  his  arm  and 
together  they  made  their  way  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"Perhaps,  some  day,  one  will  come 
who  can  sing  a  song  of  perfect  love  in 
perfect  tones,  and  your  soul  will  be  at 
tuned  to  his  melody." 

"  Perhaps — and  good-night,"  she 
softly  said,  leaving  his  arm  and  joining 
her  friends,  who  accompanied  her  to  the 
carriage. 


li 


II 


intangible  something  that  places 
the  stamp  of  popular  approval  on 
one  musical  enterprise,  while  another 
equally  artistic  and  as  cleverly  managed 
languishes  in  a  condition  of  unendorsed 
greatness,  remains  one  of  the  unsolved 
mysteries. 

When  a  worker  in  the  vineyard  of 
music  or  the  drama  offers  his  choicest 
tokay  to  the  public,  that  fickle  coquette 
may  turn  to  the  more  ordinary  and  less 
succulent  concord.  And  the  worker 
and  the  public  itself  know  not  why. 

It  is  true,  Diotti's  fame  had  preceded 
him,  but  fame  has  preceded  others  and 

12 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

has  not  always  been  proof  against  finan 
cial  disaster.  All  this  preliminary, — and 
it  is  but  necessary  to  recall  that  on  the 
evening  of  December  the  twelfth  Diotti 
made  his  initial  bow  in  New  York,  to 
an  audience  that  completely  filled  ev 
ery  available  space  in  the  Academy  of 
Music — a  representative  audience,  dis 
tinguished  alike  for  beauty,  wealth  and 
discernment. 

When  the  violinist  appeared  for  his 
solo,  he  quietly  acknowledged  the  cor 
dial  reception  of  the  audience,  and  im 
mediately  proceeded  with  the  business 
of  the  evening.  At  a  slight  nod  from 
him  the  conductor  rapped  attention, 
then  launched  the  orchestra  into  the 
introduction  of  the  concerto,  Diotti' s 
favorite,  selected  for  the  first  number. 
As  the  violinist  turned  to  the  con 
ductor  he  faced  slightly  to  the  left  and  in 
a  direct  line  with  the  second  proscenium 

'3 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

box.  His  poise  was  admirable.  He  was 
handsome,  with  the  olive-tinted  warmth 
of  his  southern  home — fairly  tall,  straight- 
limbed  and  lithe — a  picture  of  poetic 
grace.  His  was  the  face  of  a  man  who 
trusted  without  reserve,  the  manner  of 
one  who  believed  implicitly,  feeling 
that  good  was  universal  and  evil  acci 
dental. 

As  the  music  grew  louder  and  the 
orchestra  approached  the  peroration  of 
the  preface  of  the  coming  solo,  the  vio 
linist  raised  his  head  slowly.  Suddenly 
his  eyes  met  the  gaze  of  the  solitary 
occupant  of  the  second  proscenium  box. 
His  face  flushed.  He  looked  inquiring 
ly,  almost  appealingly,  at  her.  She  sat 
immovable  and  serene,  a  lace-framed 
vision  in  white. 

It  was  she  who,  since  he  had  met 
her,  only  the  night  before,  held  his  very 
soul  in  thraldom. 

H 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

He  lifted  his  bow,  tenderly  placing  it 
on  the  strings.  Faintly  came  the  first 
measures  of  the  theme.  The  melody, 
noble,  limpid  and  beautiful,  floated  in 
dreamy  sway  over  the  vast  auditorium, 
and  seemed  to  cast  a  mystic  glamour 
over  the  player.  As  the  final  note  of 
the  first  movement  was  dying  away,  the 
audience,  awakening  from  its  delicious 
trance,  broke  forth  into  spontaneous 
bravos. 

Mildred  Wallace,  scrutinizing  the 
program,  merely  drew  her  wrap  closer 
about  her  shoulders  and  sat  more  erect. 
At  the  end  of  the  concerto  the  applause 
was  generous  enough  to  satisfy  the  most 
exacting  'virtuoso.  Diotti  unquestion 
ably  had  scored  the  greatest  triumph  of 
his  career.  But  the  lady  in  the  box  had 
remained  silent  and  unaffected  through 
out. 

The  poor  fellow  had  seen  only  her  dur- 

'5 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

ing  the  time  he  played,  and  the  mighty 
cheers  that  came  from  floor  and  galler 
ies  struck  upon  his  ear  like  the  echoes 
of  mocking  demons.  Leaving  the  stage 
he  hurried  to  his  dressing-room  and 
sank  into  a  chair.  He  had  persuaded 
himself  she  should  not  be  insensible  to 
his  genius,  but  the  dying  ashes  of  his 
hopes,  his  dreams,  were  smouldering, 
and  in  his  despair  came  the  thought : 
"  I  am  not  great  enough  for  her.  I  am 
but  a  man ;  her  consort  should  be  a  god. 
Her  soul,  untouched  by  human  passion 
or  human  skill,  demands  the  power  of 
god-like  genius  to  arouse  it." 

Music  lovers  crowded  into  his  dress 
ing-room,  enthusiastic  in  their  praises. 
Cards  conveying  delicate  compliments 
written  in  delicate  chirography  poured 
in  upon  him,  but  in  vain  he  looked  for 
some  sign,  some  word  from  her. 


16 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

Quickly  he  left  the  theater  and  sought 
his  hotel. 

A  menacing  cloud  obscured  the  win 
try  moon.  A  clock  sounded  the  mid 
night  hour. 

He  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  and 
almost  sobbed  his  thoughts,  and  their 
burden  was: 

"I  am  not  great  enough  for  her.  I 
am  but  a  man,  I  am  but  a  man !  " 


Ill 

T)ERKINS  called  in  the  morning. 
Perkins  was  happy — Perkins  was 
positively  joyous,  and  Perkins  was  self- 
satisfied.  The  violinist  had  made  a 
great  hit.  But  Perkins,  confiding  in 
the  white-coated  dispenser  who  con 
cocted  his  matin  Martini,  very  dry,  an 
hour  before,  said  he  regarded  the  suc 
cess  due  as  much  to  the  management  as 
to  the  artist.  And  Perkins  believed  it. 
Perkins  usually  took  all  the  credit  for  a 
success,  and  with  charming  consistency 
placed  all  responsibility  for  failure  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  hapless  artist. 

When  Perkins  entered  Diotti's  room 
18 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

he  found  the  violinist  heavy-eyed  and 
dejected.  "My  dear  Signer,"  he  began, 
showing  a  large  envelope  bulging  with 
newspaper  clippings,  "I  have  brought 
the  notices.  They  are  quite  the  limit,  I 
assure  you.  Nothing  like  them  ever 
heard  before — all  tuned  in  the  same 
key,  as  you  musical  fellows  would  say," 
and  Perkins  cocked  his  eye. 

Perkins  enjoyed  a  glorious  reputation 
with  himself  for  bright  sayings,  which 
he  always  accompanied  with  a  cock  of 
the  eye.  The  musician  not  showing  any 
visible  appreciation  of  the  manager's 
metaphor,  Perkins  immediately  pro 
ceeded  to  uncock  his  eye. 

"  Passed  the  box-office  coming  up," 
continued  this  voluble  enlightener; 
"  nothing  left  but  a  few  seats  in  the  top 
gallery.  We'll  stand  them  on  their 
heads  to-morrow  night  —  see  if  we 
don't."  Then  he  handed  the  bursting 

19 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

envelope  of  notices  to  Diotti,  who  list 
lessly  put  them  on  the  table  at  his  side. 

"Too  tired  to  read,  eh?"  said  Per 
kins,  and  then  with  the  advance-agent 
instinct  strong  within  him  he  selected  a 
clipping,  and  touching  the  violinist  on 
the  shoulder:  "Let  me  read  this  one  to 
you.  It  is  by  Herr  Totenkellar.  He 
is  a  hard  nut  to  crack,  but  he  did  him 
self  proud  this  time.  Great  critic  when 
he  wants  to  be." 

Perkins  cleared  his  throat  and  began: 
"Diotti  combines  tremendous  feeling 
with  equally  tremendous  technique. 
The  entire  audience  was  under  the 
witchery  of  his  art."  Diotti  slowly  neg 
atived  that  statement  with  bowed  head. 
"His  tone  is  full,  round  and  clear*  his 
interpretation  lends  a  story-telling  charm 
to  the  music  ;  for,  while  we  drank  deep 
at  the  fountain  of  exquisite  melody,  we 
saw  sparkling  within  the  waters  the 
20 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

lights  of  Paradise.  New  York  never 
has  heard  his  equal.  He  stands  alone, 
pre-eminent,  an  artistic  giant." 

"Now,  that's  what  I  call  great,"  said 
the  impresario,  dramatically;  "when 
you  hit  Totenkellar  that  way  you  are 
good  for  all  kinds  of  money." 

Perkins  took  his  hat  and  cane  and 
moved  toward  the  door.  The  violin 
ist  arose  and  extended  his  hand  wear 
ily.  "Good-day"  came  simultaneous 
ly;  then  "I'm  off.  We'll  turn  'em 
away  to-morrow;  see  if  we  don't!" 
Whereupon  Perkins  left  Diotti  alone  in 
his  misery. 


31 


IV 

TTwas  the  evening  of  the  fourteenth. 
In  front  of  the  Academy  a  strong- 
lunged  and  insistent  tribe  of  gentry, 
known  as  ticket  speculators,  were  reap 
ing  a  rich  harvest.  They  represented  a 
beacon  light  of  hope  to  many  tardy  pa 
trons  of  the  evening's  entertainment, 
especially  to  the  man  who  had  forgot 
ten  his  wife's  injunction  "to  be  sure 
to  buy  the  tickets  on  the  way  down 
town,  dear,  and  get  them  in  the  family 
circle,  not  too  far  back."  This  man's 
intentions  were  sincere,  but  his  newspa 
per  was  unusually  interesting  that  morn 
ing.  He  was  deeply  engrossed  in  an 

22 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

article  on  the  causes  leading  to  matri 
monial  infelicities  when  his  'bus  passed 
the  Academy  box-office. 

He  was  six  blocks  farther  down  town 
when  he  finished  the  article,  only  to 
find  that  it  was  a  carefully  worded 
advertisement  for  a  new  patent  medi 
cine,  and  of  course  he  had  not  time  to 
return.  "Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "  I'll  get 
them  when  I  go  up  town  to-night." 

But  he  did  not.  So  with  fear  in  his 
heart  and  a  red-faced  woman  on  his 
arm  he  approached  the  box-office. 
"  Not  a  seat  left,"  sounded  to  his  hen 
pecked  ears  like  the  concluding  words 
of  the  black-robed  judge:  "  and  may  the 
Lord  have  mercy  upon  your  soul."  But 
a  reprieve  came,  for  one  of  the  aforesaid 
beacon  lights  of  hope  rushed  forward, 
saying:  "I  have  two  good  seats,  not 
far  back,  and  only  ten  apiece."  And 
the  gentleman  with  fear  in  his  heart 

23 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

and  the  red-faced  woman  on  his  arm 
passed  in. 

They  saw  the  largest  crowd  in  the 
history  of  the  Academy.  Every  seat  was 
occupied,  every  foot  of  standing  room 
taken.  Chairs  were  placed  in  the  side 
aisles.  The  programs  announced  that 
it  was  the  second  appearance  in  America 
of  Angelo  Diotti,  the  renowed  Tuscan 
violinist. 

The  orchestra  had  perfunctorily 
ground  out  the  overture  to  "  Der  Frei- 
schuetz,"  the  baritone  had  stentorianly 
emitted  "  Dio  Possente,"  the  soprano 
was  working  her  way  through  the  closing 
measures  of  the  mad  scene  from  "  Lu 
cia,"  and  Diotti  was  number  four  on 
the  program.  The  conductor  stood  be 
side  his  platform,  ready  to  ascend  as 
Diotti  appeared. 

The  audience,  ever  ready  to  act  when 
those  on  the  stage  cease  that  occupation, 
24 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

gave  a  splendid  imitation  of  the  historic 
last  scene  at  the  Tower  of  Babel. 
Having  accomplished  this  to  its  evident 
satisfaction,  the  audience  proceeded,  like 
the  closing  phrase  of  the  "  Goetterdaem- 
merung"  Dead  March,  to  become  ex 
ceedingly  quiet — then  expectant. 

This  expectancy  lasted  fully  three 
minutes.  Then  there  were  some  impa 
tient  handclappings.  A  few  persons 
whispered:  "  Why  is  he  late  ?"  "Why 
doesn't  he  come  ?"  "  I  wonder  where 
Diotti  is,"  and  then  came  unmistakable 
signs  of  impatience.  At  its  height  Per 
kins  appeared,  hesitatingly.  Nervous 
and  jerky  he  walked  to  the  center  of 
the  stage,  and  raised  his  hand  begging 
silence.  The  audience  was  stilled. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  falter- 
ingly  said,  "  Signer  Diotti  left  his  hotel 
at  seven  o'clock  and  was  driven  to  the 
Academy.  The  call-boy  rapped  at  his 

25 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

dressing-room,  and  not  receiving  a  re 
ply,  opened  the  door  to  find  the  room 
empty.  We  have  despatched  searchers 
in  every  direction  and  have  sent  out  a 
police  alarm.  We  fear  some  accident 
has  befallen  the  Signor.  We  ask  your 
indulgence  for  the  keen  disappointment, 
and  beg  to  say  that  your  money  will  be 
refunded  at  the  box-office." 

Diotti  had  disappeared  as  complete 
ly  as  though  the  earth  had  swallowed 
him. 


26 


DEAREST  SISTER:    You 

doubtless  were  exceedingly  mys 
tified  and  troubled  over  the  report  that 
was  flashed  to  Europe  regarding  my 
sudden  disappearance  on  the  eve  of  my 
second  concert  in  New  York. 

Fearing,  sweet  Francesca,  that  you 
might  mourn  me  as  dead,  I  sent  the 
cablegram  you  received  some  weeks 
since,  telling  you  to  be  of  good  heart 
and  await  my  letter.  To  make  my  ac 
tion  thoroughly  understood  I  must  give 
you  a  record  of  what  happened  to  me 
from  the  first  day  I  arrived  in  Amer 
ica.  I  found  a  great  interest  mani- 

2? 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

fested  in  my  premiere,  and  socially  ev-i 
erything  was  done  to  make  me  happy. 

Mrs.  James  Llewellyn,  whom,  you 
no  doubt  remember,  we  met  in  Florence 
the  winter  of  18 — ,  immediately  after  I 
reached  New  York  arranged  a  recep 
tion  for  me,  which  was  elegant  in  the 
extreme.  But  from  that  night  dates 
my  misery. 

You  ask  her  name? — Mildred  Wal 
lace.  Tell  me  what  she  is  like,  I  hear 
you  say.  Of  graceful  height,  willowy 
and  exquisitely  molded,  not  over  twen 
ty-four,  with  the  face  of  a  Madonna; 
wondrous  eyes  of  darkest  blue,  hair  in 
describable  in  its  maze  of  tawny  color 
— in  a  word,  the  perfection  of  woman 
hood.  In  half  an  hour  I  was  her  ab 
ject  slave,  and  proud  in  my  serfdom. 
When  I  returned  to  the  hotel  that  even 
ing  I  could  not  sleep.  Her  image  ever 
was  before  me,  elusive  and  shadowy. 
28 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

And  yet  we  seemed  to  grow  farther  and 
farther  apart — she  nearer  heaven,  I 
nearer  earth. 

The  next  evening  I  gave  my  first  and 
what  I  fear  may  prove  my  last  concert 
in  America.  The  vision  of  my  dreams 
was  there,  radiant  in  rarest  beauty. 
Singularly  enough,  she  was  in  the  di 
rect  line  of  my  vision  while  I  played. 
I  saw  only  her,  played  but  for  her,  and 
cast  my  soul  at  her  feet.  She  sat  indif 
ferent  and  silent.  " Cold ?"  you  say.  No! 
No!  Francesca,  not  cold;  superior  to 
my  poor  efforts.  I  realized  my  limita 
tions.  I  questioned  my  genius.  When 
I  returned  to  bow  my  acknowledgments 
for  the  most  generous  applause  I  have 
ever  received,  there  was  no  sign  on  her 
part  that  I  had  interested  her,  either 
through  my  talent  or  by  appeal  to  her 
curiosity.  I  hoped  against  hope  that 
some  word  might  come  from  her,  but  I 
29 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The 
critics  were  fulsome  in  their  praise  and 
the  public  was  lavish  with  its  plaudits, 
but  I  was  abjectly  miserable.  Another 
sleepless  night  and  I  was  determined  to 
see  her.  She  received  me  most  gra 
ciously,  although  I  fear  she  thought  my 
visit  one  of  vanity — wounded  vanity — 
and  me  petulant  because  of  her  lack  of 
appreciation. 

Oh,  sister  mine,  I  knew  better.  I 
knew  my  heart  craved  one  word,  how 
ever  matter-of-fact,  that  would  rekindle 
the  hope  that  was  dying  within  me. 

Hesitatingly,  and  like  a  clumsy  yokel, 
I  blurted:  "I  have  been  wondering 
whether  you  cared  for  the  performance 
I  gave?  " 

44  It  certainly  ought  to  make  little 
difference  to  you,"  she  replied;  "  the 
public  was  enthusiastic  enough  in  its 
endorsement." 

30 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"But  I  want  your  opinion,"  I  plead 
ed. 

"  My  opinion  would  not  at  all  affect 
the  almost  unanimous  verdict,"  she 
replied  calmly. 

"And,"  I  urged  desperately,  "you 
were  not  affected  in  the  least  ?" 

Very  coldly  she  answered,  "  Not  in 
the  least;"  and  then  fearlessly,  like  a 
princess  in  the  Palace  of  Truth :  "If 
ever  a  man  comes  who  can  awaken  my 
heart,  frankly  and  honestly  I  will  con 
fess  it." 

"  Perhaps  such  a  one  lives,"  I  said, 
"  but  has  yet  to  reach  the  height  to  win 
you — your — ' ' 

"Speak  it,"  she  said,  "  to  win  my 
love!" 

"Yes,"  I  cried,  startled  at  her  can 
dor,  "to  win  your  love."  Hope  slowly 
rekindled  within  my  breast,  and  then 


31 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

with  half-closed  eyes,  and  wooingly,  she 
said : 

66  No  drooping  Clytie  could  be  more 
constant  than  I  to  him  who  strikes  the 
chord  that  is  responsive  in  my  soul." 

Her  emotion  must  have  surprised  her, 
but  immediately  she  regained  her  placid 
ity  and  reverted  no  more  to  the  subject. 

I  went  out  into  the  gathering  gloom. 
Her  words  haunted  me.  A  strange 
feeling  came  over  me.  A  voice  within 
me  cried:  "  Do  not  play  to-night. 
Study !  study  I  Perhaps  in  the  full  frui 
tion  of  your  genius  your  music,  like  the 
warm  western  wind  to  the  harp,  may 
bring  life  to  her  soul." 

I  fled,  and  I  am  here.  I  am  delving 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  mysteries  of 
my  art,  and  I  pray  God  each  hour  that 
He  may  place  within  my  grasp  the 
wondrous  music  His  blessed  angels 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

sing,   for  the  soul  of  her  I  love   is  at 
tuned  to  the  harmonies  of  heaven. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

ANGELO. 
ISLAND  OF  BAHAMA,  January  2. 


33 


VI 

TJ^HEN  Diotti  left  New  York  so 
*"  precipitately  he  took  passage 
on  a  coast  line  steamer  sailing  for  the 
Bahama  Islands.  Once  there,  he  leased 
a  small  cay,  one  of  a  group  off  the  main 
land,  and  lived  alone  and  unattended, 
save  for  the  weekly  visits  of  an  old 
fisherman  and  his  son,  who  brought 
supplies  of  provisions  from  the  town 
miles  away.  His  dwelling-place,  sur 
rounded  with  palmetto  trees,  was  little 
more  than  a  rough  shelter.  Diotti  arose 
at  daylight,  and  after  a  simple  repast, 
betook  himself  to  practise.  Hour  after 
hour  he  would  let  his  muse  run  riot 
34 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

with  his  fingers.  Lovingly  he  wooed 
the  strings  with  plaintive  song,  then 
conquering  and  triumphant  would  be 
his  theme.  But  neither  satisfied  him. 
The  vague  dream  of  a  melody  more 
beautiful  than  ever  man  had  heard 
dwelt  hauntingly  on  the  borders  of  his 
imagination,  but  was  no  nearer  realiza 
tion  than  when  he  began.  As  the  day's 
work  closed,  he  wearily  placed  the 
violin  within  its  case,  murmuring, 
"  Not  yet,  not  yet;  I  have  not  found  it." 
Days  passed,  weeks  crept  slowly 
on;  still  he  worked,  but  always 
with  the  same  result.  One  day, 
feverish  and  excited,  he  played  on 
in  monotone  almost  listless.  His  tired, 
over-wrought  brain  denied  a  further 
thought.  His  arm  and  fingers  refused 
response  to  his  will.  With  an  uncon 
trollable  outburst  of  grief  and  anger  he 
dashed  the  violin  to  the  floor,  where  it 

35 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

lay  a  hopeless  wreck.  Extending  his 
arms  he  cried,  in  the  agony  of  despair: 
"  It  is  of  no  use!  If  the  God  of  heaven 
will  not  aid  me,  I  ask  the  prince  of 
darkness  to  come." 

A  tall,  rather  spare,  but  well-made 
and  handsome  man  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  hut.  His  manner  was  that  of 
one  evidently  conversant  with  the  usages 
of  good  society. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  musician, 
surprised  and  visibly  nettled  at  the  in 
trusion,  and  then  with  forced  politeness 
he  asked:  "  To  whom  am  I  indebted 
for  this  unexpected  visit?  " 

"Allow  me,"  said  the  stranger  tak 
ing  a  card  from  his  case  and  handing 
it  to  the  musician,  who  read:  "  Satan," 
and,  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner, 
"Prince  of  Darkness." 

"  I  am  the  Prince,"  said  the  stranger, 
bowing  low. 

36 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

There  was  no  hint  of  the  pavement- 
made  ruler  in  the  information  he  gave, 
but  rather  of  the  desire  of  one  gentle 
man  to  set  another  right  at  the  begin 
ning.  The  musician  assumed  a  posi 
tion  of  open-mouthed  wonder,  gazing 
steadily  at  the  visitor. 

"  Satan?  "  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

"  You  need  help  and  advice,"  said 
the  visitor,  his  voice  sounding  like  that 
of  a  disciple  of  the  healing  art,  and  im 
plying  that  he  had  thoroughly  diagnosed 
the  case. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  shuddering  vio 
linist;  "  go  away.  I  do  not  need  you." 

"  I  regret  I  can  not  accept  that  state 
ment  as  gospel  truth,"  said  Satan,  sar 
castically,  "  for  if  ever  a  man  needed 
help,  you  are  that  man." 

"  But  not  from  you,"  replied  Diotti. 

"  That   statement  is  discredited  also 


37 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

by  your  outburst  of  a  few  moments  ago 
when  you  called  upon  me." 

"  I  do  not  need  you,"  reiterated  the 
musician.  "  I  will  have  none  of  you! >: 
and  he  waved  his  arm  toward  the  door, 
as  if  he  desired  the  interview  to  end. 

"I  came  at  your  behest,  actuated 
entirely  by  kindness  of  heart,"  said  Sa 
tan. 

Diotti  laughed  derisively,  and  Satan, 
showing  just  the  slightest  feeling  at 
Diotti's  behavior,  said  reprovingly:  "If 
you  will  listen  a  moment,  and  not  be  so 
rude  to  an  utter  stranger,  we  may  reach 
some  conclusion  to  your  benefit." 

"Get  thee  behind—" 

' '  I  know  exactly  what  you  were  about 
to  say.  Have  no  fears  on  that  score. 
I  have  no  demands  to  make  and  no  im 
possible  compacts  to  insist  upon." 

"I  have  heard  of  you  before,"  know- 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

ingly  spoke  the  violinist,  nodding  his 
head  sadly. 

"No  doubt  you  have,"  smilingly. 
"My  reputation,  which  has  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  irresponsible  people,  is  not 
of  the  best,  and  places  me  at  times  in 
awkward  positions.  But  I  am  begin 
ning  to  live  it  down."  The  stranger 
looked  contrition  itself.  "  To  prove  my 
sincerity  I  desire  to  help  you  win  her 
love,"  emphasizing  her. 

"  How  can  you  help  me?  " 

"Very  easily.  You  have  been  wast 
ing  time,  energy  and  health  in  a  wild 
desire  to  play  better.  The  trouble  lies 
not  with  you." 

"Not  with  me?"  interrupted  the  vio 
linist,  now  thoroughly  interested. 

"The  trouble  lies  not  with  you,"  re 
peated  the  visitor,  "but  with  the  miser 
able  violin  you  have  been  using  and  have 


39 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

just  destroyed,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
shattered  instrument. 

Tears  welled  from  the  poor  violinist's 
eyes  as  he  gazed  on  the  fragments  of  his 
beloved  violin,  the  pieces  lying  scattered 
about  as  the  result  of  his  unfortunate 
anger. 

"  It  was  a  Stradivarius,"  said  Diotti, 
sadly. 

"  Had  it  been  a  Stradivarius,  an  Amati 
or  a  Guarnerius,  or  a  host  of  others  rolled 
into  one,  you  would  not  have  found  in 
it  the  melody  to  win  the  heart  of  the 
woman  you  love.  Get  a  better  and 
more  suitable  instrument." 

"  Where  is  one?':  earnestly  inter 
rogated  Diotti,  vaguely  realizing  that 
Satan  knew. 

66  In  my  possession,"  Satan  replied. 

"  She  would  hate  me  if  she  knew  I 
had  recourse  to  the  powers  of  darkness 


40 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

to  gain  her  love,"  bitterly  interposed 
Diotti. 

Satan,  wincing  at  this  uncompliment 
ary  allusion  to  himself,  replied  rather 
warmly:  "  My  dear  sir,  were  it  not  for 
the  fact  that  I  feel  in  particularly  good 
spirits  this  morning,  I  should  resent  your 
ill-timed  remarks  and  leave  you  to  end 
your  miserable  existence  with  rope  or 
pistol,"  and  Satan  pantomimed  both 
suicidal  contingencies. 

"  Do  you  want  the  violin  or  not?  ': 

"  I  might  look  at  it,"  said  Diotti,  re 
solving  mentally  that  he  could  go  so 
far  without  harm. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Satan.  He  gave 
a  long  whistle. 

An  old  man,  bearing  a  violin  case, 
came  within  the  room.  He  bowed  to 
the  wondering  Diotti,  and  proceeded  to 
open  the  case.  Taking  the  instrument 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

out  the  old  man  fondled  it  with  loving 
and  tender  solicitude,  pointing  out  its 
many  beauties — the  exquisite  blending 
of  the  curves,  the  evenness  of  the  grain, 
the  peculiar  coloring,  the  lovely  contour 
of  the  neck,  the  graceful  outlines  of  the 
body,  the  scroll,  rivaling  the  creations 
of  the  ancient  sculptors,  the  solidity  of 
the  bridge  and  its  elegantly  carved  heart, 
and,  waxing  exceedingly  enthusiastic, 
holding  up  the  instrument  and  looking 
at  it  as  one  does  at  a  cluster  of  gems,  he 
added,  "the  adjustment  of  the  strings." 

"  That  will  do,"  interrupted  Satan, 
taking  the  violin  from  the  little  man, 
who  bowed  low  and  ceremoniously 
took  his  departure.  Then  the  devil, 
pointing  to  the  instrument,  asked  :  "  Isn't 
it  a  beauty?" 

The  musician,  eying  it  keenly,  re 
plied :  "Yes,  it  is,  but  not  the  kind  of 
violin  I  play  on." 

42 


THE     F I F 

the  old  ma 
and  tender  so 
many  beau 
of  the  curv< 


looking 

•,  he 


poi 

it  a  be:1 

The    n  ,   eying  it   keenly, 

plied:  "Yes,  it  is,  but  not  the 
violin  I  play  on." 


The  old  man  held  up  the  violin 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

"Oh,  I  see,"  carelessly  observed  the 
other,  "you  refer  to  that  extra  string." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  puzzled  violin 
ist,  examining  it  closely. 

" Allow  me  to  explain  the  peculiar 
characteristics  of  this  magnificent  instru 
ment,"  said  his  satanic  majesty.  "This 
string,"  pointing  to  the  G,  "is  the 
string  of  pity;  this  one,"  referring  to  the 
third,  "  is  the  string  of  hope;  this," 
plunking  the  A,  "is  attuned  to  love, 
while  this  one,  the  E  string,  gives  forth 
sounds  of  joy. 

"You  will  observe,"  went  on  the 
visitor,  noting  the  intense  interest  dis 
played  by  the  violinist,  "  that  the  posi 
tion  of  the  strings  is  the  same  as  on  any 
other  violin,  and  therefore  will  require 
no  additional  study  on  your  part." 

"  But  that  extra  string?"  interrupted 
Diotti,  designating  the  middle  one  on 


43 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

the  violin,  a  vague  foreboding  rising 
within  him. 

"That,"  said  Mephistopheles,  sol 
emnly,  and  with  no  pretense  of  sophis 
try,  "  is  the  string  of  death,  and  he  who 
plays  upon  it  dies  at  once." 

"  The — string — of — death!"  repeated 
the  violinist  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Yes,  the  string  of  death,"  Satan  re 
peated,  "and  he  who  plays  upon  it  dies 
at  once.  But,"  he  added  cheerfully, 
"  that  need  not  worry  you.  I  noticed  a 
marvelous  facility  in  your  arm  work. 
Your  staccato  and  spiccato  are  wonder 
ful.  Every  form  of  bowing  appears 
child's  play  to  you.  It  will  be  easy  for 
you  to  avoid  touching  the  string." 

"Why  avoid  it?  Can  it  not  be  cut 
off?" 

"Ah,  that's  the  rub.  If  you  ex 
amine  the  violin  closely  you  will  find 
that  the  string  of  death  is  made  up  of 
44 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

the  extra  lengths  of  the  other  four 
strings.  To  cut  it  off  would  destroy  the 
others,  and  then  pity,  hope,  love  and  joy 
would  cease  to  exist  in  the  soul  of  the 
violin.5' 

"  How  like  life  itself,"  Diotti  re 
flected,  "pity,  hope,  love,  joy  end  in 
death,  and  through  death  they  are  born 
again." 

"That's  the  idea,  precisely,"  said 
Satan,  evidently  relieved  by  Diotti's 
logic  and  quick  perception. 

The  violinist  examined  the  instrument 
with  the  practised  eye  of  an  expert,  and 
turning  to  Satan  said:  "The  four 
strings  are  beautifully  white  and  trans 
parent,  but  this  one  is  black  and  odd 
looking. 

6 '  What  is  it  wrapped  with  ? ' '  eagerly 
inquired  Diotti,  examining  the  death 
string  with  microscopic  care. 

"The  fifth  string  was  added  after  an 

45 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  N  G 

unfortunate  episode  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden,  in  which  I  was  somewhat  con 
cerned,"  said  Satan,  soberly.  "It  is 
wrapped  with  strands  of  hair  from  the 
first  mother  of  man . ' '  Impressively  then 
he  offered  the  violin  to  Diotti. 

"I  dare  not  take  it,"  said  the  per 
plexed  musician ;  "it's  from — " 

"Yes,  it  is  directly  from  there,  but  I 
brought  it  from  heaven  when  I — I  left," 
said  the  fallen  angel,  with  remorse  in 
his  voice.  "  It  was  my  constant  com 
panion  there.  But  no  one  in  my  do 
main — not  I,  myself — can  play  upon  it 
now,  for  it  will  respond  neither  to  our 
longing  for  pity,  hope,  love,  joy,  nor 
even  death,"  and  sadly  and  retrospect 
ively  Satan  gazed  into  vacancy;  then, 
after  a  long  pause:  "Try  the  instru 
ment!" 

Diotti   placed   the  violin   in    position 


46 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

and  drew  the  bow  across  the  string  of 
joy,  improvising  on  it.  Almost  instantly 
the  birds  of  the  forest  darted  hither  and 
thither,  caroling  forth  in  gladsome 
strains.  The  devil  alone  was  sad,  and 
with  emotion  said  : 

"It  is  many,  many  years  since  I 
have  heard  that  string." 

Next  the  artist  changed  to  the  string 
of  pity,  and  thoughts  of  the  world's 
sorrows  came  over  him  like  a  pall. 

"Wonderful,  most  wonderful!"  said 
the  mystified  violinist;  "with  this  in 
strument  I  can  conquer  the  world!" 

"  Aye,  more  to  you  than  the  world," 
said  the  tempter,  "  a  woman's  love." 

A  woman's  love — to  the  despairing 
suitor  there  was  one  and  only  one  in  this 
wide,  wide  world,  and  her  words,  burn 
ing  their  way  into  his  heart,  had  made 
this  temptation  possible:  "No  droop- 


47 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

ing  Clytie  could  be  more  constant  than 
I  to  him  who  strikes  the  chord  that  is 
responsive  in  my  soul." 

Holding  the  violin  aloft,  he  cried  ex- 
ultingly :  "Henceforth  thou  art  mine, 
though  death  and  oblivion  lurk  ever 
near  thee!" 


48 


VII 

PERKINS,  seated  in  his  office, 
threw  the  morning  paper  aside. 
"It's  no  use,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
office  boy,  "  I  don't  believe  they  ever 
will  find  him,  dead  or  alive.  Whoever 
put  up  the  job  on  Diotti  was  a  past 
grand  master  at  that  sort  of  thing.  The 
silent  assassin  that  lurks  in  the  shadow 
of  the  midnight  moon  is  an  explosion  of 
dynamite  compared  to  the  party  that 
made  way  with  Diotti.  You  ask,  why 
should  they  kill  him?  My  boy,  you 
don't  know  the  world.  They  were 
jealous  of  his  enormous  hit,  of  our 
dazzling  success.  Jealousy  did  it." 

49 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

The  "they"  of  Perkins  comprised 
rival  managers,  rival  artists,  news 
paper  critics  and  everybody  at  large 
who  would  not  concede  that  the  attrac 
tions  managed  by  Perkins  were  the 
"greatest  on  earth." 

"We'll  never  see  his  like  again  — 
come  in!"  this  last  in  answer  to  a  knock. 

Diotti  appeared  at  the  open  door. 
Perkins  jumped  like  one  shot  from  a 
catapult,  and  rushing  toward  the  silent 
figure  in  the  doorway  exclaimed:  "Bless 
my  soul,  are  you  a  ghost?" 

"A  substantial  one,"  said  Diotti  with 
a  smile. 

"Are  you  really  here  ?"  continued 
the  astonished  impresario,  using  Diot- 
ti's  arm  as  a  pump  handle  and  pinch 
ing  him  at  the  same  time. 

When  they  were  seated  Perkins  plied 
Diotti  with  all  manner  of  questions  : 

How  did  it  happen?"   "  How  did  you 


" 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

escape?"  and  the  like,  all  of  which  Diotti 
parried  with  monosyllabic  replies,  final 
ly  saying:  "  I  was  dissatisfied  with  my 
playing  and  went  away  to  study." 

'  '  Do  you  know  that  the  failure  to  ful 
fill  your  contract  has  cost  me  at  least  ten 
thousand  dollars?"  said  the  shrewd 
manager,  the  commercial  side  of  his 
nature  asserting  itself. 

"All  of  which  I  will  pay,"  quietly 
replied  the  artist.  "Besides  I  am  ready 
to  play  now,  and  you  can  announce  a 
concert  within  a  week  if  you  like." 

"  If  I  like?"  cried  the  hustling  Per 
kins.  "  Here,  James,"  calling  his  of 
fice  boy,  "  run  down  to  the  printer's 
and  give  him  this,"  making  a  note  of 
the  various  sizes  of  "paper"  he  desired, 
"  and  tell  Mr.  Tompkins  that  Diotti  is 
back  and  will  give  a  concert  next  Tues 
day.  Tell  Smith  to  prepare  the  news 
paper  'ads'  and  notices  immediately. 


" 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

In  an  hour  Perkins  had  the  entire 
machinery  of  his  office  in  motion. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  New  York 
had  several  versions  of  the  disappear 
ance  and  return,  all  leading  to  one 
common  point — that  Diotti  would  give 
a  concert  the  coming  Tuesday  evening. 

The  announcement  of  the  reappear 
ance  of  the  Tuscan  contained  a  line 
to  the  effect  that  the  violinist  would  play 
for  the  first  time  his  new  suite — a  medi 
tation  on  the  emotions. 

He  had  not  seen  Mildred. 

As  he  came  upon  the  stage  that  night 
the  lights  were  turned  low,  and  naught 
but  the  shadowy  outlines  of  player  and 
violin  were  seen.  His  reception  by  the 
audience  was  not  enthusiastic.  They 
evidently  remembered  the  disappoint 
ment  caused  by  his  unexpected  disap 
pearance,  but  this  unfriendly  attitude 


52 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

soon  gave  way  to  evidences  of  kindlier 
feelings. 

Mildred  was  there,  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  and  to  gain  her  love  Diotti 
would  have  bartered  his  soul  that  mo 
ment. 

The  first  movement  of  the  suite  was 
entitled  "  Pity,"  and  the  music  flowed 
like  melodious  tears.  A  subdued  sob 
rose  and  fell  with  the  sadness  of  the 
theme. 

Mildred's  eyes  were  moistened  as 
she  fixed  them  on  the  lone  figure  of  the 
player. 

Now  the  theme  of  pity  changed  to 
hope,  and  hearts  grew  brighter  under  the 
spell.  The  next  movement  depicted  joy. 
As  the  virtuoso* s  fingers  darted  here  and 
there,  his  music  seemed  the  very  laugh 
ter  of  fairy  voices,  the  earth  looked  roses 
and  sunshine,  and  Mildred,  relaxing  her 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

position  and  leaning  forward  in  the  box, 
with  lips  slightly  parted,  was  the  picture 
of  eager  happiness. 

The  final  movement  came.  Its  sub 
ject  was  love.  The  introduction  de 
picted  the  Arcadian  beauty  of  the 
trysting  place,  love-lit  eyes  sought  each 
other  intuitively  and  a  great  peace 
brooded  over  the  hearts  of  all.  Then 
followed  the  song  of  the  Passionate  Pil 
grim  : 

'''-If  music  and  sweet  poetry  agree, 
As  they  must  needs,  the  sister  and  the  brother, 
Then  must  the  love  be  great  'twixt  thee  and 

me 
Because  thou  lov'st  the  one,  and  I  the  other. 

****** 

Thou  lov'st  to  hear  the  sweet  melodious  sound 
That  Phoebus'  lute  (the  queen  ofmusic^makes; 
And  I  in  deep  delight,  am  chiejly  drown '  d 
When  as  himself  to  singing  he  betakes. 


54 


THE     FIFTH     S  T  J 

position  and  leaning  ; 
with  lips  slightly  par' 
of  eager  happiness. 

The  final 
ject   w 

trystin^ 


i  the  s 

Th  >ts  sound 

Thatl  usic^ma 

And  I  in  «  am  chiefly  drow, 

When  as  himself  to  singing  he  betaf 

He  took  her  hand  reverently 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

One  god  is  god  of  both,  as  poets  feign, 
One  knight  loves  both,  and  both  in  thee  re 
main.*' 

Grander  and  grander  the  melody 
rose,  voicing  love's  triumph  with  won 
drous  sweetness  and  palpitating  rhythm. 
Mildred,  her  face  flushed  with  excite 
ment,  a  heavenly  fire  in  her  eyes  and  in 
an  attitude  of  supplication,  reveled  in 
the  glory  of  a  new  found  emotion. 

As  the  violinist  concluded  his  per 
formance  an  oppressive  silence  pervaded 
the  house,  then  the  audience,  wild  with 
excitement,  burst  into  thunders  of  ap 
plause.  In  his  dressing-room  Diotti 
was  besieged  by  hosts  of  people,  con 
gratulating  him  in  extravagant  terms. 

Mildred  Wallace  came,  extending  her 
hands.  He  took  them  almost  rever 
ently.  She  looked  into  his  eyes,  and 
he  knew  he  had  struck  the  chord  respon 
sive  in  her  soul. 

55 


VIII 

*•  r*HE  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens 

when  the  violinist  awoke.  A  great 

weight  had  been  lifted  from  his  heart; 

he  had  passed  from  darkness  into  dawn. 

A  messenger  brought  him  this  note: 

My  Dear  Signor  Diotti  —  I  am  at  home  this 
afternoon,  and  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you  and 
return  my  thanks  for  the  exquisite  pleasure  you 
gave  me  last  evening.  Music,  such  as  yours, 
is  indeed  the  voice  of  heaven.  Sincerely, 

Mildred  Wallace. 

The  messenger  returned  with  this  re- 


My  Dear  Miss  Wallace  —  I  will  call  at  three 
to-day.  Gratefully, 

Angelo  Diotti. 

56 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

He  watched  the  hour  drag  from  eleven 
to  twelve,  then  counted  the  minutes  to 
one,  and  from  that  time  until  he  left  the 
hotel  each  second  was  tabulated  in  his 
mind.  Arriving  at  her  residence,  he 
was  ushered  into  the  drawing-room.  It 
was  fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  vio 
lets,  and  he  stood  gazing  at  her  portrait 
expectant  of  her  coming. 

Dressed  in  simple  white,  entrancing 
in  her  youthful  freshness,  she  entered, 
her  face  glowing  with  happiness,  her 
eyes  languorous  and  expressive.  She 
hastened  to  him,  offering  both  hands. 
He  held  them  in  a  loving,  tender  grasp, 
and  for  a  moment  neither  spoke.  Then 
she,  gazing  clearly  and  fearlessly  into 
his  eyes,  said:  "  My  heart  has  found  its 
melody! " 

He,  kneeling  like  Sir  Gareth  of  old: 
"  The  song  and  the  singer  are  yours 
forever." 

57 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

She,  bidding  him  arise  :  "And  I  for 
ever  yours."  And  wondering  at  her 
boldness,  she  added,  "  I  know  and  feel 
that  you  love  me — your  eyes  confirmed 
your  love  before  you  spoke."  Then, 
convincingly  and  ingenuously,  "I  knew 
you  loved  me  the  moment  we  first  met. 
Then  I  did  not  understand  what  that 
meant  to  you,  now  I  do." 

He  drew  her  gently  to  him,  and  the 
motive  of  their  happiness  was  defined 
in  sweet  confessions:  "  My  love,  my 
life — My  life,  my  love." 

The  magic  of  his  music  had  changed 
her  very  being,  the  breath  of  love  was 
in  her  soul,  the  vision  of  love  was  danc 
ing  in  her  eyes.  The  child  of  marble, 
like  the  statue  of  old,  had  come  to  life: 

"And  not  long1  since 
I iv as  a  cold,  dull  stone!  I  recollect 
That  by  some  means  I  knew  that  I  was  stone; 
That  was  the  first  dull  gleam  of  consciousness  j 

53 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

I  became  conscious  of  a  chilly  self, 
A  cold,  immovable  identity. 
I  knew  that  I  was  stone,  and  knew  no  more! 
Then,  by  an  imperceptible  advance, 
Came  the  dim  evidence  of  outer  things , 
Seen — darkly  and  imperfectly — -yet  seen 
The  walls  surrounding  me,  and  I,  alone. 
That  pedestal — that  curtain — then  a  voice 
That  called  on  Galatea  !    At  that  word, 
Which  seemed  to  shake  my  marble  to  the  core, 
That  which  was  dim  before,  came  evident. 
Sounds,  that  had  hummed  around  me,  indis 
tinct, 

Vague,  meaningless — seemed  to  resolve  them 
selves 

Into  a  language  I  could  understand , 
I  felt  my  frame  pervaded  by  a  glow 
That  seemed  to  thaw  my  marble  intojlesh  ; 
Its  cold,  hard  substance  throbbed  with  active 

life, 

My  limbs  grew  supple,  and  I  moved — I  lived! 
Lived  in  the  ecstasy  of  a  new-born  life! 
Lived  in  the  love  of  him  that  fashioned  me! 
Lived  in  a  thousand  tangled  thoughts  of  hope. ' ' 

Day  after  day  he  came ;  they  told  their 
59 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

love,  their  hopes,  their  ambitions.  She 
assumed  absolute  proprietorship  in  him. 
She  gloried  in  her  possession. 

He  was  born  into  the  world,  nurtured 
in  infancy,  trained  in  childhood  and 
matured  into  manhood,  for  one  express 
purpose — to  be  hers  alone.  Her  own 
ership  ranged  from  absolute  despotism 
to  humble  slavery,  and  he  was  happy 
through  it  all. 

One  day  she  said:  "Angelo,  is  it 
your  purpose  to  follow  your  profession 
always  ?  ' ' 

"  Necessarily,  it  is  my  livelihood,"  he 
replied. 

"  But  do  you  not  think  that  after  we 
stand  at  the  altar,  we  never  should  be 
separated  ?  ' ' 

"  We  will  be  together  always,"  said 
he,  holding  her  face  between  his  palms, 
and  looking  with  tender  expression  into 
her  inquiring  eyes. 

60 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  But  I  notice  that  women  cluster 
around  you  after  your  concerts — and 
shake  your  hand  longer  than  they 
should — and  talk  to  you  longer  than 
they  should — and  go  away  looking  self- 
satisfied!"  she  replied  brokenly ,  much 
as  a  little  girl  tells  of  the  theft  of  her 
doll. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  that 
is  all  part  of  my  profession;  it  is  not 
me  they  care  for,  it  is  the  music  I 
give  that  makes  them  happy.  If,  in  my 
playing,  I  achieve  results  out  of  the  com 
mon,  they  admire  me!"  and  he  kissed 
away  the  unwelcome  tears. 

"I  know,"  she  continued,  "  but 
lately,  since  we  have  loved  each  other, 
I  can  not  bear  to  see  a  woman  near 
you.  In  my  dreams  again  and  again 
an  indefinable  shadow  mockingly  comes 
and  cries  to  me,  '  he  is  not  to  be  yours, 
he  is  to  be  mine.'  : 

61 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

Diotti  flushed  and  drew  her  to  him. 
"  Darling,"  his  voice  carrying  convic 
tion,  "I  am  yours,  you  are  mine,  all  in 
all,  in  life  here  and  beyond!"  And  as 
she  sat  dreaming  after  he  had  gone,  she 
murmured  petulantly,  "  I  wish  there 
were  no  other  women  in  the  world." 

Her  father  was  expected  from  Europe 
on  the  succeeding  day's  steamer.  Mr. 
Wallace  was  a  busy  man.  The  various 
gigantic  enterprises  he  served  as  presi 
dent  or  director  occupied  most  of  his 
time.  He  had  been  absent  in  Europe 
for  several  months,  and  Mildred  was 
anxiously  awaiting  his  return  to  tell  him 
of  her  love. 

When  Mr.  Wallace  came  to  his  resi 
dence  the  next  morning,  his  daughter 
met  him  with  a  fond  display  of  filial  af 
fection;  they  walked  into  the  drawing- 
room,  hand  in  hand;  he  saw  a  picture 
of  the  violinist  on  the  piano.  "  Who's 
62 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

the  handsome  young  fellow?"  he  asked, 
looking  at  the  portrait  with  the  satisfac 
tion  a  man  feels  when  he  sees  a  splendid 
type  of  his  own  sex. 

"  That  is  Angelo  Diotti,  the  famous 
violinist,"  she  said,  but  she  could  not 
add  another  word. 

As  they  strolled  through  the  rooms 
he  noticed  no  less  than  three  likenesses 
of  the  Tuscan.  And  as  they  passed  her 
room  he  saw  still  another  on  the  chif- 
fonnier. 

"  Seems  to  me  the  house  is  running 
wild  with  photographs  of  that  fiddler," 
he  said. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was 
self-conscious:  "I  will  wait  for  a  more 
opportune  time  to  tell  him, "  she 
thought. 

In  the  scheme  of  Diotti's  appearance 
in  New  York  there  were  to  be  two 
more  concerts.  One  was  to  be  given 

63 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

that  evening.  Mildred  coaxed  her 
father  to  accompany  her  to  hear  the 
violinist.  Mr.  Wallace  was  not  fond 
of  music;  "  it  had  been  knocked  out  of 
him  on  the  farm  up  in  Vermont,  when 
he  was  a  boy,"  he  would  apologetically 
explain,  and  besides  he  had  the  old  puri 
tanical  abhorrence  of  stage  people  — 
putting  them  all  in  one  class — as  puppets 
who  danced  or  played  or  talked  for  an 
idle  and  unthinking  public. 

So  it  was  with  the  thought  of  a 
wasted  evening  that  he  accompanied 
Mildred  to  the  concert. 

The  entertainment  was  a  repetition 
of  the  others  Diotti  had  given,  and  at 
its  end,  Mildred  said  to  her  father  : 
"  Come,  I  want  to  congratulate  Signor 
Diotti  in  person." 

"  That  is  entirely  unnecessary,"  he 
replied. 

"It  is  my  desire,"  and  the  girl  led 
64 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

the  unwilling  parent  back  of  the  scenes 
and  into  Diotti's  dressing-room. 

Mildred  introduced  Diotti  to  her 
father,  who  after  a  few  commonplaces 
lapsed  into  silence.  The  daughter's  en 
thusiastic  interest  in  Diotti's  perform 
ance  and  her  tender  solicitude  for  his 
weariness  after  the  efforts  of  the  even 
ing,  quickly  attracted  the  attention  of 
Mr.  Wallace  and  irritated  him  exceed 
ingly. 

When  father  and  daughter  were 
seated  in  their  carriage  and  were  hur 
riedly  driving  home,  he  said:  "  Mildred, 
I  prefer  that  you  have  as  little  to  say  to 
that  man  as  possible." 

"What  do  you  object  to  in  him?" 
she  asked. 

"Everything.  Of  what  use  is  a  man 
who  dawdles  away  his  time  on  a  fiddle; 
of  what  benefit  is  he  to  mankind  ?  Do 
fiddlers  build  cities?  Do  they  delve  into 

65 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

the  earth  for  precious  metals?  Do  they 
sow  the  seed  and  harvest  the  grain? 
No,  no;  they  are  drones — the  barnacles 
of  society." 

"  Father,  how  can  you  advance  such 
an  argument?  Music's  votaries  offer  no 
apologies  for  their  art.  The  husband 
man  places  the  grain  within  the  breast 
of  Mother  Earth  for  man's  material  wel 
fare;  God  places  music  in  the  heart  of 
man  for  his  spiritual  development.  In 
man's  spring  time,  his  bridal  day,  mu 
sic  means  joy.  In  man's  winter  time, 
his  burial  day,  music  means  comfort. 
The  heaven-born  muse  has  added  to  the 
happiness  of  the  world.  Diotti  is  a 
great  genius.  His  art  brings  rest  and 
tranquillity  to  the  wearied  and  despair 
ing,"  and  she  did  not  speak  again  until 
they  had  reached  the  house. 

The  lights  were  turned  low  when 
father  and  daughter  went  into  the 
66 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

drawing-room.  Mr.  Wallace  felt  that 
he  had  failed  to  convince  Mildred  of  the 
utter  worthlessness  of  fiddlers,  big  or 
little,  and  as  one  dissatisfied  with  the 
outcome  of  a  contest,  re-entered  the 
lists. 

"  He  has  visited  you?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"Often?" 

"Yes,  father,"  spoken  calmly. 

"Often?"  louder  and  more  imperi 
ously  repeated  the  father,  as  if  there 
must  be  some  mistake. 

"Quite  often,"  and  she  sat  down, 
knowing  the  catechizing  would  be  likely 
to  continue  for  some  minutes. 

"  How  many  times,  do  you  think?" 

She  rose,  walked  into  the  hallway; 
took  the  card  basket  from  the  table, 
returned  and  seated  herself  beside  her 
father,  emptying  its  contents  into  her 
lap.  She  picked  up  a  card.  It  read 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"Angelo  Diotti,"  and  she  called  the 
name  aloud.  She  took  up  another  and 
again  her  lips  voiced  the  beloved  name. 
"Angelo  Diotti,"  she  continued,  repeat 
ing  at  intervals  for  a  minute.  Then 
looking  at  her  father  :  "  He  has  called 
thirty-two  times  :  there  are  thirty-one 
cards  here  and  on  one  occasion  he  for 
got  his  card-case." 

" Thirty-two!"  said  the  father,  ris 
ing  angrily  and  pacing  the  floor. 

"  Yes,  thirty-two.  I  remember  all 
of  them  distinctly." 

Her  father  came  over  to  her,  half 
coaxingly,  half  seriously.  "  Mildred,  I 
wish  his  visits  to  cease ;  people  will 
imagine  there  is  a  romantic  attachment 
between  you." 

"  There  is,  father,"  out  it  came,  "he 
loves  me  and  I  love  him." 

"  What !"  shouted  Mr.  Wallace,  and 


68 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

then  severely,  "  this  must  cease  imme 
diately." 

She  rose  quietly  and  led  her  father 
over  to  the  mantel.  Placing  a  hand  on 
each  of  his  shoulders  she  said  : 

"  Father,  I  will  obey  you  implicitly 
if  vou  can  name  a  reasonable  objection 
to  the  man  I  love.  But  you  can  not. 
I  love  him  with  my  whole  soul.  I  love 
him  for  the  nobility  of  his  character, 
and  because  there  is  none  other  in  the 
world  for  him,  nor  for  me." 


IX 

C\LD  SANDERS  as  boy  and  man 
had  been  in  the  employ  of  the 
banking  and  brokerage  firm  of  Wallace 
Brothers  for  two  generations.  The  firm 
gradually  had  advanced  his  position  un 
til  now  he  was  confidential  adviser  and 
general  manager,  besides  having  an  in 
terest  in  the  profits  of  the  business. 

He  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  Mr. 
Wallace,  and  had  been  a  constant  vis 
itor  at  his  house  from  the  first  days  of 
that  gentleman's  married  life.  He  him 
self  was  alone  in  the  world,  a  confirmed 
bachelor.  He  had  seen  Mildred  creep 
from  babyhood  into  childhood,  and  bud 
70 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

from  girlhood  to  womanhood.  To  Mil 
dred  he  was  one  of  that  numerous  army 
of  brevet  relations  known  as  "gran- 
pop,"  "pop,"  or  "uncle."  To  her  he 
was  Uncle  Sanders. 

If  the  old  man  had  one  touch  of  hu 
man  nature  in  him  it  was  a  solicitude 
for  Mildred's  future — an  authority  arro 
gated  to  himself — to  see  that  she  mar 
ried  the  right  man;  but  even  that  was 
directed  to  her  material  gain  in  this 
world's  goods,  and  not  to  any  senti 
mental  consideration  for  her  happiness. 
He  flattered  himself  that  by  timely  sug 
gestion  he  had  "stumped"  at  least  half 
a  dozen  would-be  candidates  for  Mil 
dred's  hand.  He  pooh-poohed  love  as  a 
necessity  for  marital  felicity,  and  would 
enforce  his  argument  by  quoting  from 
the  bard: 

"All  lovers  swear  more  performance 
than  they  are  able,  and  yet  reserve  an 

7' 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

ability  that  they  never  perform:  vow 
ing  more  than  the  perfection  of  ten,  and 
discharging  less  than  the  tenth  part  of 
one." 

"You  can  get  at  a  man's  income," 
he  would  say,  "but  not  at  his  heart. 
Love  without  money  won't  travel  as  far 
as  money  without  love,"  and  many 
married  people  whose  bills  were  over 
due  wondered  if  the  old  fellow  was 
not  right. 

He  was  cold-blooded  and  generally 
disliked  by  the  men  under  him.  The 
more  evil-minded  gossips  in  the  bank 
said  he  was  in  league  with  "  Old 
Nick."  That,  of  course,  was  absurd, 
for  it  does  not  necessarily  follow,  be 
cause  a  man  suggests  a  means  looking 
to  an  end,  disreputable  though  it  be, 
that  he  has  Mephistopheles  for  a  silent 
partner.  The  conservative  element 
among  the  employees  would  not  openly 

72 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

venture  so  far,  but  rather  thought  if  his 
satanic  majesty  and  old  Sanders  ran  a 
race,  the  former  would  come  in  a  bad 
second,  if  he  were  not  distanced  alto 
gether. 

The  old  man  always  reached  the  office 
at  nine.  Mr.  Wallace  usually  arrived  a 
half  hour  later,  seldom  earlier,  which  was 
so  well  understood  by  Sanders  that  he 
was  greatly  surprised  when  he  walked 
into  the  president's  office,  the  morning 
after  that  gentleman  had  attended 
Diotti's  concert,  to  find  the  head  of  the 
firm  already  there  and  apparently  wait 
ing  for  him. 

"  Sanders,"  said  the  banker,  "I 
want  your  advice  on  a  matter  of  great 
importance  and  concern  to  me." 

Sanders  came  across  the  room  and 
stood  beside  the  desk. 

"  Briefly  as  possible,  I  am  much  ex 
ercised  about  my  daughter." 

73 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

The  old  man  moved  up  a  chair  and 
buried  himself  in  it.  Pressing  his  el 
bows  tightly  against  his  sides,  he  drew 
his  neck  in,  and  with  the  tips  of  his 
right  hand  fingers  consorted  and  co 
quetted  with  their  like  on  the  opposite 
hand;  then  he  simply  asked,  "  Who  is 
the  man?" 

"  He  is  the  violinist  who  has  created 
such  a  sensation  here,  Angelo  Diotti." 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  the  name  in  print," 
returned  the  old  man. 

"  He  has  bewitched  Mildred.  I  never 
have  seen  her  show  the  least  interest  in 
a  man  before.  She  never  has  appeared 
to  me  as  an  impressionable  girl  or  one 
that  could  easily  be  won." 

"That  is  very  true,"  ejaculated  San 
ders;  "she  always  seemed  tractable  and 
open  to  reason  in  all  questions  of  love 
and  courting.  I  can  recall  several  in- 
stances  where  I  have  set  her  right  by 
74 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

my  estimation  of  men,  and  invariably 
she  has  accepted  my  views." 

"And  mine  until  now,"  said  the 
father,  and  then  he  recounted  his  expe 
rience  of  the  night  before.  "  I  had 
hoped  she  would  not  fall  in  love,  but 
be  a  prop  and  comfort  to  me  now  that 
I  am  alone.  I  am  dismayed  at  the 
prospect  before  me." 

Then  the  old  man  mused:  "In  the 
chrysalis  state  of  girlhood,  a  parent  ar 
ranges  all  the  details  of  his  daughter's 
future ;  when  and  whom  she  shall  mar 
ry.  'I  shall  not  allow  her  to  fall  in  love 
until  she  is  twenty-three,'  says  the  fond 
parent.  'I  shall  not  allow  her  to  marry 
until  she  is  twenty-six,'  says  the  fond 
parent.  'The  man  she  marries  will  be 
the  one  I  approve  of,  and  then  she  will 
live  happy  ever  after,'  concludes  the 
fond  parent." 

Deluded  parent!  false  prophet!     The 

75 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  N  G 

anarchist,  Love,  steps  in  and  disdains 
all  laws,  rules  and  regulations.  When 
finally  the  father  confronts  the  defying 
daughter,  she  calmly  says,  "  Well, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? " 
And  then  tears,  forgiveness,  complete 
capitulation,  and,  sometimes,  she  and 
her  husband  live  happily  ever  after 
wards. 

"  We  must  find  some  means  to  end 
this  attachment.  A  union  between  a 
musician  and  my  daughter  would  be 
most  mortifying  to  me.  Some  plan 
must  be  devised  to  separate  them,  but 
she  must  not  know  of  it,  for  she  is  im 
patient  of  restraint  and  will  not  brook 
opposition." 

4 *  Are  you  confident  she  really  loves 
this  violinist?" 

"  She  confessed  as  much  to  me," 
said  the  perturbed  banker. 

Old  Sanders  tapped  with  both  hands 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

on    his    shining    cranium    and    asked, 
"Are  you  confident  he  loves  her?" 

6 '  No.  Even  if  he  does  not,  he  no  doubt 
makes  the  pretense,  and  she  believes 
him.  A  man  who  fiddles  for  money 
is  not  likely  to  ignore  an  opportunity  to 
angle  for  the  same  commodity,"  and 
the  banker,  with  a  look  of  scorn  on  his 
face,  threw  himself  back  into  the  chair. 

"  Does  she  know  that  you  do  not  ap 
prove  of  this  man  ?  ' ' 

"  I  told  her  that  I  desired  the  mu 
sician's  visits  to  cease." 

"  And  her  answer?  " 
*  "  She  said  she  would  obey  me  if  I 
could  name  one  reasonable  objection  to 
the  man,  and  then,  with  an  air  of  abso 
lute  confidence  in  the  impossibility  of 
such  a  contingency,  added,  '  But  you 
can  not.' 

"  Yes,  but  you  must,"  said  Sanders. 
u  Mildred  is  strangely  constituted.  If 

77 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

she  loves  this  man,  her  love  can  be 
more  deadly  to  the  choice  of  her  heart 
than  her  hate  to  one  she  abhors.  The 
impatience  of  restraint  you  speak  of  and 
her  very  inability  to  brook  opposition 
can  be  turned  to  good  account  now." 
And  old  Sanders  again  tapped  in  the 
rhythm  of  a  dirge  on  his  parchment- 
bound  cranium. 

"  Your  plan?"  eagerly  asked  the 
father,  whose  confidence  in  his  secretary 
was  absolute. 

"  I  would  like  to  study  them  together. 
Your  position  will  be  stronger  with 
Mildred  if  you  show  no  open  opposition 
to  the  man  or  his  aspirations ;  bring  us 
together  at  your  house  some  evening, 
and  if  I  can  not  enter  a  wedge  of  dis 
content,  then  they  are  not  as  others.'5 
*  *  *  •&  *  & 

Mildred  was  delighted  when  her 
father  told  her  on  his  return  in  the 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

evening  that  he  was  anxious  to  meet 
Signor  Diotti,  and  suggested  a  dinner 
party  within  a  few  days.  He  said  he 
would  invite  Mr.  Sanders,  as  that  gen 
tleman,  no  doubt,  would  consider  it  a 
great  privilege  to  meet  the  famous  mu 
sician.  Mildred  immediately  sent  an 
invitation  to  Diotti,  adding  a  request 
that  he  bring  his  violin  and  play  for 
Uncle  Sanders,  as  the  latter  had  found 
it  impossible  to  attend  his  concerts  dur 
ing  the  season,  yet  was  fond  of  music, 
especially  violin  music. 


79 


fc  /  HE  little  dinner  party  passed  off 
pleasantly,  and  as  old  Sanders 
lighted  his  cigar  he  confided  to  Diotti, 
with  a  braggart's  assurance,  that  when 
he  was  a  youngster  he  was  the  best  fid 
dler  for  twenty  miles  around.  "I  tell 
you  there  is  nothing  like  a  fiddler  to 
catch  a  petticoat,"  he  said,  with  a  sharp 
nudge  of  his  elbow  into  Diotti's  ribs. 
"When  I  played  the  Devil's  Dream 
there  wasn't  a  girl  in  the  country  could 
keep  from  dancing,  and  '  Rosalie,  the 
Prairie  Flower,'  brought  them  on  their 
knees  to  me  every  time;"  then  after  a 
pause,  "  I  don't  believe  people  fiddle  as 
80 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

well  nowadays  as  they  did  in  the  good 
old  times,"  and  he  actually  sighed  in 
remembrance. 

Mildred  smiled  and  whispered  to  Di- 
otti.  He  took  his  violin  from  the  case 
and  began  playing.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  from  above  showers  of  silvery  mer 
riment  were  falling  to  earth.  The  old 
man  watched  intently,  and  as  the  player 
changed  from  joy  to  pity,  from  love 
back  to  happiness,  Sanders  never  with 
drew  his  gaze.  His  bead-like  eyes  fol 
lowed  the  artist;  he  saw  each  individual 
finger  rise  and  fall,  and  the  bow  bound 
over  the  finger-board,  always  avoiding, 
never  coming  in  contact  with  the  middle 
string.  Suddenly  the  old  man  beat  a 
tattoo  on  his  cranium  and  closed  his 
eyes,  apparently  deep  in  thought. 

As  Diotti  ceased  playing,  Sanders  ap 
plauded  vociferously,  and  moving  to 
ward  the  violinist,  said:  "  Magnificent ! 
81 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

I  never  have  heard  better  playing! 
What  is  the  make  of  your  violin?  " 

Diotti,  startled  at  this  question,  hur 
riedly  put  the  instrument  in  its  case; 
"  Oh ,  it  is  a  famous  make,"  he  drawled. 

"Will  you  let  me  examine  it?"  said 
the  elder,  placing  his  hand  on  the  case. 

"I  never  allow  any  one  to  touch  my 
violin,"  replied  Diotti,  closing  the  cover 
quickly. 

"  Why;  is  there  a  magic  charm  about 
it,  that  you  fear  other  hands  may  dis 
cover?"  queried  the  old  man. 

"I  prefer  that  no  one  handle  it," 
said  the  virtuoso  commandingly. 

"  Very  well,"  sighed  the  old  man  re 
signedly,  "there  are  violins  and  violins, 
and  no  doubt  yours  comes  within  that 
category,"  this  half  sneeringly. 

"Uncle,"  interposed  Mildred  tactfully, 
"  you  must  not  be  so  persistent.  Signor 
Diotti  prizes  his  violin  highly  and  will 
82 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

not  allow  any  one  to  play  upon  it  but 
himself,"  and  the  look  of  relief  on 
Diotti's  face  amply  repaid  her. 

Mr.  Wallace  came  in  at  that  moment, 
and  with  perfunctory  interest  in  his 
guest,  invited  him  to  examine  the  splen 
did  collection  of  revolutionary  relics  in 
his  study. 

"  I  value  them  highly,"  said  the 
banker,  ' '  both  for  patriotic  and  ances 
tral  reasons.  The  Wallaces  fought  and 
died  for  their  country,  and  helped  to 
make  this  land  what  it  is." 

The  father  and  the  violinist  went  to 
the  study,  leaving  the  daughter  and  old 
Sanders  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
old  man,  seating  himself  in  a  large  arm 
chair,  said  :  "  Mildred,  my  dear,  I  do 
not  wonder  at  the  enormous  success  of 
this  Diotti." 

"  He  is  a  wonderful  artist,"  replied 
Mildred;  "critics  and  public  alike  place 

83 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

him  among  the  greatest  of  his  profes 
sion." 

"  He  is  a  good-looking  young  fellow, 
too,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I  think  he  is  the  handsomest  man  I 
ever  have  seen,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Where  does  he  come  from?  "  con 
tinued  Sanders. 

"  St.  Casciano,  a  small  town  in  Tus 
cany." 

" Has  he  a  family?" 

"Only  a  sister,  whom  he  loves 
dearly,"  good-naturedly  answered  the 
girl. 

"And  no  one  else?"  continued  the 
seemingly  garrulous  old  man. 

"  None  that  I  have  heard  him  speak 
of.  No,  certainly  not,"  rather  impetu 
ously  replied  Mildred. 

"  How  old  is  he?  "  continued  the  old 
man. 


84 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

"  Twenty-eight  next  month  ;  why  do 
you  wish  to  know?  ?:  she  quizzically 
asked. 

"  Simply  idle  curiosity,"  old  Sanders 
carelessly  replied.  "I  wonder  if  he  is 
in  love  with  any  one  in  Tuscany?  ': 

"  Of  course  not;  how  could  he  be?  " 
quickly  rejoined  the  girl. 

"  And  why  not?  "  added  old  Sanders. 

"  Why?  Because,  because — he  is  in 
love  with  some  one  in  America." 

"Ah,  with  you,  I  see,"  said  the  old 
man,  as  if  it  were  the  greatest  discovery 
of  his  life ;  ' l  are  you  sure  he  has  not 
some  beautiful  sweetheart  in  Tuscany 
as  well  as  here  ?  ' ' 

"What  a  foolish  question,"  she  re 
plied.  "  Men  like  Angelo  Diotti  do 
not  fall  in  love  as  soldiers  fall  in  line. 
Love  to  a  man  of  his  nobility  is  too 
serious  to  be  treated  so  lightly." 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NO 

"  Very  true,  and  that's  what  has  ex 
cited  my  curiosity!  "  whereupon  the  old 
man  smoked  away  in  silence. 

6 '  Excited  your  curiosity !  ' '  said 
Mildred.  "What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  It  may  be  something;  it  may  be 
nothing;  but  my  speculative  instinct  has 
been  aroused  by  a  strange  peculiarity  in 
his  playing." 

"  His  playing  is  wonderful !  "  replied 
Mildred  proudly. 

"Aye,  more  than  wonderful!  I 
watched  him  intently,"  said  the  old 
man;  "I  noted  with  what  marvelous 
facility  he  went  from  one  string  to  the 
other.  But  however  rapid,  however  diffi 
cult  the  composition,  he  steadily  avoided 
one  string;  in  fact,  that  string  remained 
untouched  during  the  entire  hour  he 
played  for  us." 

"  Perhaps   the    composition    did    not 


86 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

call  for  its  use,"  suggested  Mildred,  un 
conscious  of  any  other  meaning  in  the 
old  man's  observation,  save  praise  for 
her  lover. 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  the  oddity  im 
pressed  me;  it  was  a  new  string  to  me. 
I  have  never  seen  one  like  it  on  a  violin 
before." 

"  That  can  scarcely  be,  for  I  do  not 
remember  of  Signor  Diotti  telling  me 
there  was  anything  unusual  about  his 
violin." 

"  I  am  sure  it  has  a  fifth  string." 

"And  I  am  equally  sure  the  string 
can  be  of  no  importance  or  Angelo 
would  have  told  me  of  it,"  Mildred 
quickly  rejoined. 

"  I  recall  a  strange  story  of  Paga- 
nini,"  continued  the  old  man,  appar 
ently  not  noticing  her  interruption;  "  he 
became  infatuated  with  a  lady  of  high 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

rank,  who  was  insensible  of  the  admira 
tion  he  had  for  her  beauty. 

"  He  composed  a  love  scene  for  two 
strings,  the  '  E '  and  '  G,'  the  first  was 
to  personate  the  lady,  the  second  him 
self.  It  commenced  with  a  species  of 
dialogue,  intending  to  represent  her 
indifference  and  his  passion;  now  sport 
ive,  now  sad;  laughter  on  her  part  and 
tears  from  him,  ending  in  an  apotheosis 
of  loving  reconciliation.  It  affected  the 
lady  to  that  degree  that  ever  after  she 
loved  the  violinist.'* 

"  And  no  doubt  they  were  happy?  " 
Mildred  suggested  smilingly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  with  as 
sumed  sentiment,  "  even  when  his  pro 
fession  called  him  far  away,  for  she  had 
made  him  promise  her  he  never  would 
play  upon  the  two  strings  whose  music 
had  won  her  heart,  so  those  strings  were 
mute,  except  for  her." 
88 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

The  old  man  puffed  away  in  silence 
for  a  moment,  then  with  logical  direct 
ness  continued  :  "  Perhaps  the  string 
that's  mute  upon  Diotti's  violin  is  mute 
for  some  such  reason." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  girl,  half  im 
patiently. 

"  The  string  is  black  and  glossy  as 
the  tresses  that  fall  in  tangled  skeins  on 
the  shoulders  of  the  dreamy  beauties  of 
Tuscany.  It  may  be  an  idle  fancy,  but 
if  that  string  is  not  a  woven  strand  from 
some  woman's  crowning  glory,  then  I 
have  no  discernment." 

u  You  are  jesting,  uncle,"  she  re 
plied,  but  her  heart  was  heavy  already. 

"  Ask  him  to  play  on  that  string;  I'll 
wager  he'll  refuse,"  said  the  old  man, 
contemptuously. 

"  He  will  not  refuse  when  I  ask  him, 
but  I  will  not  to-night,"  answered  the 
unhappy  girl,  with  forced  determina- 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

tion.  Then,  taking  the  old  man's  hands, 
she  said:  "  Good-night,  I  am  going  to 
my  room ;  please  make  my  excuses  to 
Signer  Diotti  and  father,"  and  wearily 
she  ascended  the  stairs. 

Mr.  Wallace  and  the  violinist  soon 
after  joined  old  Sanders,  fresh  cigars 
were  lighted  and  regrets  most  earnestly 
expressed  by  the  violinist  for  Mildred's 
"  sick  headache." 

' '  No  need  to  worry ;  she  will  be  all 
right  in  the  morning,"  said  Sanders, 
and  he  and  the  violinist  buttoned  their 
coats  tightly  about  them,  for  the  night 
was  bitter  cold,  and  together  they  left 
the  house. 

In  her  bed-chamber  Mildred  stood 
looking  at  the  portrait  of  her  lover.  She 
studied  his  face  long  and  intently,  then 
crossing  the  room  she  mechanically  took 
a  volume  from  the  shelf,  and  as  she 
opened  it  her  eyes  fell  on  these  lines : 
90 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  How  art  thou  fallen  from  Heaven,  O 
Lucifer,  son  of  the  Morning  1 ' ' 

•K-         #         #         *         #         * 

Old  Sanders  builded   better  than  he 
knew. 


XI 

TTT'HEN  Diotti  and  old  Sanders  left 
'"  the  house  they  walked  rapidly 
down  Fifth  Avenue.  It  was  after  eleven, 
and  the  streets  were  bare  of  pedestrians, 
but  blinking-eyed  cabs  came  up  the  ave 
nue,  looking1  at  a  distance  like  a  trail 
of  Megatheriums,  gliding  through  the 
darkness.  The  piercing  wind  made  the 
men  hasten  their  steps,  the  old  man  by 
a  semi-rotary  motion  keeping  up  with 
the  longer  strides  and  measured  tread  of 
the  younger. 

When  they  reached  Fourteenth  Street, 
the  elder  said,  "  I  live  but  a  block  from 
here,"    pointing   eastward;    "  what    do 
92 


THE    FIFTH    STRING 

you  say  to  a  hot  toddy  ?  It  will  warm 
the  cockles  of  your  heart ;  come  over  to 
my  house  and  I'll  mix  you  the  best 
drink  in  New  York." 

The  younger  thought  the  suggestion 
a  good  one  and  they  turned  toward  the 
house  of  old  Sanders, 

It  was  a  neat,  red  brick,  two-story 
house,  well  in  from  the  street,  off  the 
line  of  the  more  pretentious  buildings  on 
either  side.  As  the  old  man  opened  the 
iron  gate,  the  police  officer  on  the  beat 
passed ;  he  peered  into  the  faces  of  the 
men,  and  recognizing  Sanders,  said, 
"  tough  night,  sir." 

"Very,"  replied  the  addressed. 

"All  good  old  gentlemen  should  be  in 
bed  at  this  hour,"  said  the  officer,  lift 
ing  one  foot  after  the  other  in  an  effort 
to  keep  warm,  and  in  so  doing  showing 
little  terpsichorean  grace. 

".It's  only  the  shank  of  the  evening, 

93 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

officer,"  rejoined  the  old  man,  as  he 
fumbled  with  the  latch  key  and  finally 
opened  the  door.  The  two  men  entered 
and  the  officer  passed  on. 

Every  man  has  a  fad.  One  will  tell 
you  he  sees  nothing  in  billiards  or  pool 
or  golf  or  tennis,  but  will  grow  enthusi 
astic  over  the  scientific  possibilities  of 
mumble-peg ;  you  agree  with  him,  only 
you  substitute  " skittles"  for  " mumble- 
peg." 

Old  Sanders'  fad  was  mixing  toddies 
and  punches. 

6 '  The  nectar  of  the  gods  pales  into 
nothingness  when  compared  with  a  tod 
dy  such  as  I  make,"  said  he.  "  Am 
brosia  may  have  been  all  right  for  the 
degenerates  of  the  old  Grecian  and  Ro 
man  days,  but  an  American  gentleman 
demands  a  toddy — a  hot  toddy."  And 
then  he  proceeded  with  circumspection 


94 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

and  dignity  to  demonstrate  the  process 
of  decocting  that  mysterious  beverage. 

The  two  men  took  off  their  overcoats 
and  went  into  the  sitting-room.  A  pile 
of  logs  burned  brightly  in  the  fire-place. 
The  old  man  threw  another  on  the  burn 
ing  heap,  filled  the  kettle  with  water  and 
hung  it  over  the  fire.  Next  he  went  to 
the  sideboard  and  brought  forth  the  va 
rious  ingredients  for  the  toddy. 

"  How  do  you  like  America?"  said 
the  elder,  with  commonplace  indiffer 
ence,  as  he  crunched  a  lump  of  sugar  in 
the  bottom  of  the  glass,  dissolving  the 
particles  with  a  few  drops  of  water. 

"  Very  much,  indeed,"  said  the  Tus 
can,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  an 
swered  the  question  before. 

"  Great  country  for  girls  !  "  said  San 
ders,  pouring  a  liberal  quantity  of  Old 
Tom  gin  in  the  glass  and  placing  it 
where  it  gradually  would  get  warm. 

95 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"And  for  men!"  responded  Diotti, 
enthusiastically. 

"Men  don't  amount  to  much  here, 
women  run  everything,"  retorted  the  el 
der,  while  he  repeated  the  process  of 
preparing  the  sugar  and  gin  in  the  sec 
ond  glass.  The  kettle  began  to  sing. 

"  That's  music  for  you,"  chuckled  the 
old  man,  raising  the  lid  to  see  if  the  wa 
ter  had  boiled  sufficiently.  "Do  you 
know  I  think  a  dinner  horn  and  a  sing 
ing  kettle  beat  a  symphony  all  hollow 
for  real  down-right  melody,"  and  he 
lifted  the  kettle  from  the  fire-place. 

Diotti  smiled. 

With  mathematical  accuracy  the  old 
man  filled  the  two  tumblers  with  boiling 
water. 

"Try  that,"  handing  a  glass  of  the 
toddy  to  Diotti;  "you  will  find  it  all 
right,"  and  the  old  man  drew  an  arm- 


96 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

chair  toward  the  fire-place,  smacking  his 
lips  in  anticipation. 

The  violinist  placed  his  chair  closer  to 
the  fire  and  sipped  the  drink. 

4  4  Your  country  is  noted  for  its  beauti 
ful  women?" 

"  We  have  exquisite  types  of  feminin 
ity  in  Tuscany,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  patriotic  ardor. 

"Any  as  fine  looking  as — as — as — 
well,  say  the  young  lady  we  dined  with 
to-night?" 

"Miss  Wallace?"  queried  the  Tus 
can. 

"Yes,  Miss  Wallace,"  this  rather  im 
patiently. 

"  She  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Diotti, 
with  solemn  admiration. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  any  one  pret 
tier?"  questioned  the  old  man,  after  a 
second  prolonged  sip. 


97 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  see  any  one 
more  beautiful,"  said  the  violinist,  feel 
ing  that  the  other  was  trying  to  draw 
him  out,  and  determined  not  to  yield. 

"  You  will  pardon  the  inquisitiveness 
of  an  old  man,  but  are  not  you  musicians 
a  most  impressionable  lot?" 

"  We  are  human,"  answered  the 
violinist. 

"  I  imagined  you  were  like  sailors  and 
had  a  sweetheart  in  every  port." 

"  That  would  be  a  delightful  prospect 
to  one  having  polygamous  aspirations, 
but  for  myself,  one  sweetheart  is  enough," 
laughingly  said  the  musician. 

"Only  one!  Well,  here's  to  her! 
With  this  nectar  fit  for  the  gods  and  god 
desses  of  Olympus,  let  us  drink  to  her," 
said  old  Sanders,  with  convivial  dignity, 
his  glass  raised  on  high.  "  Here' swish 
ing  health  and  happiness  to  the  dreamy- 


98 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  N  G 

eyed  Tuscan  beauty,  whom  you  love  and 
who  loves  you." 

"Stop!"  said  Diotti;  "  we  will  drink 
to  the  first  part  of  that  toast,"  and  hold 
ing  his  glass  against  that  of  his  bibulous 
host,  continued:  "  To  the  dreamy-eyed 
women  of  my  country,  exacting  of 
their  lovers;  obedient  to  their  parents 
and  loyal  to  their  husbands,"  and  his 
voice  rose  in  sonorous  rhythm  with  the 
words. 

"  Now  for  the  rest  of  the  toast,  to  the 
one  you  love  and  who  loves  you,"  came 
from  Sanders. 

' '  To  the  one  I  love  and  who  loves 
me,  God  bless  her  !"  fervently  cried  the 
guest. 

"  Is  she  a  Tuscan  ?  "  asked  old  San 
ders  slyly. 

"  She  is  an  angel!"  impetuously  an 
swered  the  violinist. 


99 


THE    FIFTH    STRING 

"  Then  she  is  an  American  !  "  said  the 
old  man  gallantly. 

"  She  is  an  American,"  repeated 
Diotti,  forgetting  himself  for  the  instant. 

"  Let  me  see  if  I  can  guess  her 
name,"  said  old  Sanders.  "  It's — it's 
Mildred  Wallace  ! "  and  his  manner  sug 
gested  a  child  solving  a  riddle. 

The  violinist,  about  to  speak,  checked 
himself  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  sincerely  pity  Mildred  if  ever  she 
falls  in  love,"  abstractedly  continued 
the  host  while  filling  another  glass. 

"  Pray  why?"  was  anxiously  asked. 

The  old  man  shifted  his  position  and 
assumed  a  confidential  tone  and  atti 
tude:  " Signer  Diotti,  jealousy  is  a  more 
universal  passion  than  love  itself.  En 
vironment  may  develop  our  character, 
influence  our  tastes  and  even  soften  our 
features,  but  heredity  determines  the  in 
tensity  of  the  two  leading  passions,  love 
100 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

and  jealousy.  Mildred's  mother  was  a 
beautiful  woman,  but  consumed  with  an 
overpowering  jealousy  of  her  husband. 
It  was  because  she  loved  him.  The 
body-guard  of  jealousy — envy,  malice 
and  hatred — were  not  in  her  composi 
tion.  When  Mildred  was  a  child  of 
twelve  I  have  seen  her  mother  suffer 
the  keenest  anguish  because  Mr.  Wal 
lace  fondled  the  child.  She  thought  the 
child  had  robbed  her  of  her  husband's 
love." 

"  Such  a  woman  as  Miss  Wallace 
would  command  the  entire  love  and  ad 
miration  of  her  husband  at  all  times," 
said  the  artist. 

"  If  she  should  marry  a  man  she 
simply  likes,  her  chances  for  happiness 
would  be  normal." 

"  In  what  manner?"  asked  the  lover. 

"  Because  she  would  be  little  con 
cerned  about  him  or  his  actions." 

101 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  Then  you  believe,"  said  the  mu 
sician,  "  that  the  man  who  loves  her  and 
whom  she  loves  should  give  her  up  be 
cause  her  chances  of  happiness  would  be 
greater  away  from  him  than  with  him?" 

"  That  would  be  an  unselfish  love," 
said  the  elder. 

"  Suppose  they  have  declared  their 
passion?"  asked  Diotti. 

"A  parting  before  doubt  and  jealousy 
had  entered  her  mind  would  let  the  im 
age  of  her  sacrificing  lover  live  within 
her  soul  as  a  tender  and  lasting  memory; 
he  always  would  be  her  ideal,"  and  the 
accent  old  Sanders  placed  on  always  left 
no  doubt  of  his  belief. 

"Why  should  doubt  and  jealousy  en 
ter  her  life  ? ' '  said  the  violinist,  falling 
into  the  personal  character  of  the  discus 
sion  despite  himself. 

"My  dear  sir,  from  what  I  observed 
to-night,  she  loves  you.  You  are  a  dan- 

102 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

gerous  man  for  a  jealous  woman  to  love. 
You  are  not  a  cloistered  monk,  you  are 
a  man  before  the  public;  you  win  the 
admiration  of  many;  some  women  do  not 
hesitate  to  show  you  their  preference.  To 
a  woman  like  Mildred  that  would  be  tor 
ture;  she  could  not  and  would  not  sepa 
rate  the  professional  artist  from  the  lover 
or  husband." 

And  Diotti,  remembering  Mildred's 
words,  could  not  refute  the  old  man's 
statements. 

"  If  you  had  known  her  mother  as  I 
did,"  continued  the  old  man,  realizing 
his  argument  was  making  an  impression 
on  the  violinist,  "you  would  see  the  ag 
ony  in  store  for  the  daughter  if  she  mar 
ried  a  man  such  as  you,  a  public  servant, 
a  public  favorite." 

' '  I  would  live  my  life  not  to  excite  her 
suspicions  or  jealousy,"  said  the  artist, 
with  boyish  enthusiasm  and  simplicity. 
103 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

"Foolish  fellow,"  retorted  Sanders, 
skeptically;  "women  imagine,  they  don't 
reason.  A  scented  note  unopened  on 
the  dressing  table  can  cause  more  un- 
happiness  to  your  wife  than  the  loss  of 
his  country  to  a  king.  My  advice  to  you 
is:  do  not  marry;  but  if  you  must,  choose 
one  who  is  more  interested  in  your  gas 
tronomic  felicity  than  in  your  marital  con 
stancy." 

Diotti  was  silent.  He  was  pondering 
the  words  of  his  host.  Instead  of  seeing 
in  Mildred  a  possibly  jealous  woman, 
causing  mental  misery,  she  appeared  a 
vision  of  single-hearted  devotion.  He 
felt:  "To  be  loved  by  such  a  one  is 
bliss  beyond  the  dreams  of  this  world." 


104 


XII 

yi  TIPSY  man  is  never  interesting, 
-*-*  and  Sanders  in  that  condition 
was  no  exception.  The  old  man  arose 
with  some  effort,  walked  toward  the 
window  and,  shading  his  eyes,  looked 
out.  The  snow  was  drifting,  swept 
hither  and  thither  by  the  cutting  wind 
that  came  through  the  streets  in  great 
gusts.  Turning  to  the  violinist,  he  said, 
"It's  an  awful  night;  better  remain  here 
until  morning.  You'll  not  find  a  cab;  in 
fact,  I  will  not  let  you  go  while  this 
storm  continues,"  and  the  old  man 
raised  the  window,  thrusting  his  head 
out  for  an  instant.  As  he  did  so  the  icy 
10=; 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

blast  that  came  in  settled  any  doubt  in 
the  young  man's  mind  and  he  concluded 
to  stop  over  night. 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock;  Sanders 
showed  him  to  his  room  and  then  re 
turned  down  stairs  to  see  that  everything 
was  snug  and  secure.  After  changing 
his  heavy  shoes  for  a  pair  of  old  slippers 
and  wrapping  a  dressing  gown  around 
him,  the  old  man  stretched  his  legs  to 
ward  the  fire  and  sipped  his  toddy. 

"  He  isn't  a  bad  sort  for  a  violinist," 
mused  the  old  man;  "  if  he  were  worth 
a  million,  I  believe  I'd  advise  Wallace  to 
let  him  marry  her.  A  fiddler!  A  mil 
lion!  Sounds  funny,"  and  he  laughed 
shrilly. 

He  turned  his  head  and  his  eyes 
caught  sight  of  Diotti's  violin  case  rest 
ing  on  the  center  table.  He  staggered 
from  the  chair  and  went  toward  it;  open 
ing  the  lid  softly,  he  lifted  the  silken 
1 06 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

coverlet  placed  over  the  instrument  and 
examined  the  strings  intently.  "  I  am 
right,"  he  said;  "it  is  wrapped  with 
hair,  and  no  doubt  from  a  woman's 
head.  Eureka!"  and  the  old  man,  happy 
in  the  discovery  that  his  surmises  were 
correct,  returned  to  his  chair  and  his 
toddy. 

He  sat  looking  into  the  fire.  The 
violin  had  brought  back  memories  of  the 
past  and  its  dead.  He  mumbled,  as  if 
to  the  fire,  "  she  loved  me;  she  loved 
my  violin.  I  was  a  devil ;  my  violin 
was  a  devil,"  and  the  shadows  on  the 
wall  swayed  like  accusing  spirits.  He 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  cried 
piteously,  "  I  was  so  young;  too  young 
to  know."  He  spoke  as  if  he  would 
conciliate  the  ghastly  shades  that  moved 
restlessly  up  and  down,  when  suddenly 
— "  Sanders,  don't  be  a  fool !" 

He  ambled  toward  the  table  again. 
107 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  I  wonder  who  made  the  violin?  He 
would  not  tell  me  when  I  asked  him  to 
night  ;  thank  you  for  your  pains,  but  I 
will  find  out  myself,"  and  he  took  the 
violin  from  the  case.  Holding  it  with 
the  light  slanting  over  it,  he  peered  in 
side,  but  found  no  inscription.  "  No 
maker's  name — strange,"  he  said.  He 
tiptoed  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  lis 
tened  intently ;  "  he  must  be  asleep ;  he 
won't  hear  me,"  and  noiselessly  he 
closed  the  door.  "I  guess  if  I  play  a 
tune  on  it  he  won't  know." 

He  took  the  bow  from  its  place  in  the 
case  and  tightened  it.  He  listened 
again.  "  He  is  fast  asleep,"  he  whis 
pered.  "  I'll  play  the  song  I  always 
played  for  her — until,"  and  the  old  man 
repeated  the  words  of  the  refrain : 

k<>Fair  as  a  lily,  joyous  and  free, 
Light  of  the  prairie  home  was  she; 

1 08 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  N  G 

Every  one  who  knew  her  felt  the  gentle  $ower 
Of  Rosalie,  the  Prairie  Flower." 

He  sat  again  in  the  arm-chair  and 
placed  the  violin  under  his  chin.  Trem 
ulously  he  drew  the  bow  across  the  mid 
dle  string,  his  bloodless  fingers  moving 
slowly  up  and  down. 

The  theme  he  played  was  the  melody 
to  the  verse  he  had  just  repeated,  but  the 
expression  was  remorse. 

#  #  #  #  *  % 

Diotti  sat  upright  in  bed.  "  I  am  pos 
itive  I  heard  a  violin!"  he  said,  holding 
one  hand  toward  his  head  in  an  attitude 
of  listening.  He  was  wide  awake.  The 
drifting  snow  beat  against  the  window 
panes  and  the  wind  without  shrieked  like 
a  thousand  demons  of  the  night.  He 
could  sleep  no  more.  He  arose  and 
hastily  dressed.  The  room  was  bitterly 
cold;  he  was  shivering.  He  thought  of 

109 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

the  crackling  logs  in  the  fire-place  below. 
He  groped  his  way  along  the  darkened 
staircase.  As  he  opened  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  sitting-room  the  fitful  gleam 
of  the  dying  embers  cast  a  ghastly  light 
over  the  face  of  a  corpse. 

Diotti  stood  a  moment,  his  eyes  trans 
fixed  with  horror.  The  violin  and  bow 
still  in  the  hands  of  the  dead  man  told 
him  plainer  than  words  what  had  hap 
pened.  He  went  toward  the  chair,  took 
the  instrument  from  old  Sanders'  hands 
and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Then  he  knelt 
beside  the  body,  and  placing  his  ear 
close  over  the  heart,  listened  for  some 
sign  of  life,  but  the  old  man  was  beyond 
human  aid. 

He  wheeled  the  chair  to  the  side  of 
the  room  and  moved  the  body  to  the 
sofa.  Gently  he  covered  it  with  a  robe. 
The  awfulness  of  the  situation  forced 
itself  upon  him,  and  bitterly  he  blamed 
no 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

himself.  The  terrible  power  of  the  in 
strument  dawned  upon  him  in  all  its 
force.  Often  he  had  played  on  the  strings 
telling  of  pity,  hope,  love  and  joy,  but 
now,  for  the  first  time,  he  realized  what 
that  fifth  string  meant. 

u  I  must  give  it  back  to  its  owner." 

"  If  you  do  you  can  never  regain  it," 
whispered  a  voice  within. 

"  I  do  not  need  it,"  said  the  violinist, 
almost  audibly. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  the  voice,  "but 
if  her  love  should  wane  how  would  you 
rekindle  it?  Without  the  violin  you 
would  be  helpless." 

"  Is  it  not  possible  that,  in  this  old 
man's  death,  all  its  fatal  power  has  been 
expended  ? ' ' 

He  went  to  the  table  and  took  the  in 
strument  from  its  place.  "  You  won  her 
for  me;  you  have  brought  happiness 
and  sunshine  into  my  life.  No  !  No  ! 
in 


THE     FIFTH     STRI  NG 

I  can  not,  will  not  give  you  up,"  then 
placing  the  violin  and  bow  in  its  case  he 
locked  it. 

The  day  was  breaking.  In  an  hour 
the  baker's  boy  came.  Diotti  went  to 
the  door,  gave  him  a  note  addressed  to 
Mr.  Wallace  and  asked  him  to  deliver  it 
at  once.  The  boy  consented  and  drove 
rapidly  away. 

Within  an  hour  Mr.  Wallace  arrived ; 
Diotti  told  the  story  of  the  night.  After 
the  undertaker  had  taken  charge  of  the 
body  he  found  on  the  dead  man's  neck, 
just  to  the  left  of  the  chin,  a  dullish, 
black  bruise  which  might  have  been 
caused  by  the  pressing  of  some  blunt  in 
strument,  or  by  a  man's  thumb.  Con 
sidering  it  of  much  importance,  he  noti 
fied  the  coroner,  who  ordered  an  inquest. 

At  six  o'clock  that  evening  a  jury  was 
impaneled,  and  two  hours  later  its  ver 
dict  was  reported. 

112 


XIII 

leaving  the  house  of  the  dead  man 
Diotti  walked  wearily  to  his  hotel. 
In  flaring  type  at  every  street  corner  he 
saw  the  announcement  for  Thursday 
evening,  March  thirty-first,  of  Angelo 
Diotti' s  last  appearance:  "  To-night  I 
play  for  the  last  time,"  he  murmured  in 
a  voice  filled  with  deepest  regret. 

The  feeling  of  exultation  so  common 
to  artists  who  finally  reach  the  goal  of 
their  ambition  was  wanting  in  Diotti  this 
morning.  He  could  not  rid  himself  of 
the  memory  of  Sanders'  tragic  death. 
The  figure  of  the  old  man  clutching  the 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

violin  and  staring  with  glassy  eyes  into 
the  dying  fire  would  not  away. 

When  he  reached  the  hotel  he  tried  to 
rest,  but  his  excited  brain  banished 
every  thought  of  slumber.  Restlessly 
he  moved  about  the  room,  and  finally 
dressing,  he  left  the  hotel  for  his  daily 
call  on  Mildred.  It  was  after  five  o'clock 
when  he  arrived.  She  received  him  coldly 
and  without  any  mark  of  affection. 

She  had  heard  of  Mr.  Sanders'  death; 
her  father  had  sent  word.  "  It  shocked 
me  greatly,"  she  said;  "  but  perhaps  the 
old  man  is  happier  in  a  world  far  from 
strife  and  care.  When  we  realize  all  the 
misery  there  is  in  this  world  we  often 
wonder  why  we  should  care  to  live." 
Her  tone  was  despondent,  her  face  was 
drawn  and  blanched,  and  her  eyes  gave 
evidence  of  weeping. 

Diotti  divined  that  something  beyond 


114 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

sympathy  for  old  Sanders'  sudden  death 
racked  her  soul.  He  went  toward  her 
and  lovingly  taking  her  hands,  bent  low 
and  pressed  his  lips  to  them*  they  were 
cold  as  marble. 

"  Darling,"  he  said;  "  something  has 
made  you  unhappy.  What  is  it?" 

"  Tell  me,  Angelo,  and  truly;  is  your 
violin  like  other  violins?" 

This  unexpected  question  came  so  sud 
denly  he  could  not  control  his  agitation. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?"  he  said. 

"  You  must  answer  me  directly!  " 

"  No,  Mildred;  my  violin  is  different 
from  any  other  I  have  ever  seen,"  this 
hesitatingly  and  with  great  effort  at  com 
posure. 

"In  wThat  way  is  it  different?"  she 
almost  demanded. 

"It  is  peculiarly  constructed;  it  has 
an  extra  string.  But  why  this  sudden 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

interest  in  the  violin?  Let  us  talk  of 
you,  of  me,  of  both,  of  our  future,"  said 
he  with  enforced  cheerfulness. 

"No,  we  will  talk  of  the  violin.  Of 
what  use  is  the  extra  string  ? ' ' 

"None  whatever,"   was  the  quick  re- 

p'y- 

"  Then  why  not  cut  it  off  ?  " 

"No,  no,  Mildred;  you  do  not  un 
derstand,"  he  cried;  "  I  can  not  do 
that." 

"You  can  not  do  it  when  I  ask  it?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Oh  Mildred,  do  not  ask  me;  I  can 
not,  can  not  do  it,"  and  the  face  of  the 
affrighted  musician  told  plainer  than 
words  of  the  turmoil  raging  in  his  soul. 

"  You  made  me  believe  that  I  was  the 
only  one  you  loved,"  passionately  she 
cried;  "the  only  one;  that  your  happiness 
was  incomplete  without  me.  You  led 
me  into  the  region  of  light  only  to  make 
116 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

the  darkness  greater  when  I  descended 
to  earth  again.  I  ask  you  to  do  a  simple 
thing  and  you  refuse;  you  refuse  because 
another  has  commanded  you." 

"  Mildred,  Mildred;  if  you  love  me  do 
not  speak  thus  !  " 

And  she,  with  imagination  greater  than 
reasoning  power,  at  once  saw  a  Tuscan 
beauty  and  Diotti  mutually  pledging  their 
love  with  their  lives. 

"Go,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door, 
"go  to  the  one  who  owns  you,  body  and 
soul;  then  say  that  a  foolish  woman  threw 
her  heart  at  your  feet  and  that  you 
scorned  it !  "  She  sank  to  the  sofa. 

He  went  toward  the  door,  and  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  like  the  echo  of  de 
spair,  protested:  "Mildred,  I  love  you; 
love  you  a  thousand  times  more  than  I 
do  my  life.  If  I  should  destroy  the 
string,  as  you  ask,  love  and  hope  would 
leave  me  forevermore.  Death  would 
117 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

not  be  robbed  of  its  terror!  "  and  with 
bowed  head  he  went  forth  into  the  twi 
light. 

She  ran  to  the  window  and  watched 
his  retreating  figure  as  he  vanished. 
' '  Uncle  Sanders  was  right  •  he  loves  an 
other  woman,  and  that  string  binds  them 
together.  He  belongs  to  her!"  Long 
and  silently  she  stood  by  the  window, 
gazing  at  the  shadowing  curtain  of  the 
coming  night.  At  last  her  face  softened. 
"  Perhaps  he  does  not  love  her  now,  but 
fears  her  vengeance.  No,  no ;  he  is  not 
a  coward !  I  should  have  approached 
him  differently;  he  is  proud,  and  may 
be  he  resented  my  imperative  manner," 
and  a  thousand  reasons  why  he  should 
or  should  not  have  removed  that  string 
flashed  through  her  mind. 

"  I  will  go  early  to  the  concert  to 
night  and  see  him  before  he  plays. 
Uncle  Sanders  said  he  did  not  touch  that 
nS 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

string  when  he  played.  Of  course  he 
will  play  on  it  for  me,  even  if  he  will  not 
cut  it  off,  and  then  if  he  says  he  loves 
me,  and  only  me,  I  will  believe  him.  I 
want  to  believe  him ;  I  want  to  believe 
him,"  all  this  in  a  semi-hysterical  way 
addressed  to  the  violinist's  portrait  on 
the  piano. 

When  she  entered  her  carriage  an  hour 
later,  telling  the  coachman  to  drive  direct 
to  the  stage-door  of  the  Academy,  she 
appeared  more  fascinating  than  ever  be 
fore. 

She  was  sitting  in  his  dressing-room 
waiting  for  him  when  he  arrived.  He 
had  aged  years  in  a  day.  His  step  was 
uncertain,  his  eyes  were  sunken  and  his 
hand  trembled.  His  face  brightened  as 
she  arose,  and  Mildred  met  him  in  the 
center  of  the  room.  He  lifted  her  hand 
and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  it. 

"Angelo,  dear,"  she  said  in  repentant 
119 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

tone;  "  I  am  sorry  I  pained  you  this  af 
ternoon;  but  I  am  jealous,  so  jealous  of 
you." 

"  Jealous?"  he  said  smilingly;  "  there 
is  no  need  of  jealousy  in  our  lives;  we 
love  each  other  truly  and  only." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  think,  we  will 
never  doubt  each  other  again,  will  we?" 

"  Never!"  he  said  solemnly. 

He  had  placed  his  violin  case  on  the 
table  in  the  room.  She  went  to  it  and 
tapped  the  top  playfully;  then  suddenly 
said:  "  I  am  going  to  look  at  your  violin, 
Angelo,"  and  before  he  could  interfere, 
she  had  taken  the  silken  coverlet  off  and 
was  examining  the  instrument  closely. 
"  Sure  enough,  it  has  five  strings;  the 
middle  one  stands  higher  than  the  rest 
and  is  of  glossy  blackness.  Uncle  San 
ders  was  right;  it  is  a  woman's  hair ! 

"Why  is  that  string  made  of  hair?" 
she  asked,  controlling  her  emotion. 

120 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

"  Only  a  fancy,"  he  said,  feigning  in 
difference. 

"  Though  you  would  not  remove  it  at 
my  wish  this  afternoon,  Angelo;  I  know 
you  will  not  refuse  to  play  on  it  for  me 
now." 

He  raised  his  hands  in  supplication. 
"Mildred!  Mildred!  Stop!  do  not  ask 
it!" 

4  fi  You  refuse  after  I  have  come  re 
pentant,  and  confessing  my  doubts  and 
fears?  Uncle  Sanders  said  you  would 
not  play  upon  it  for  me;  he  told  me  it 
was  wrapped  with  a  woman's  hair,  the 
hair  of  the  woman  you  love." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Mildred,  that  I  love 
but  you!" 

"  Love  me?  Bah!  And  another  wom 
an's  tresses  sacred  to  you?  Another 
woman's  pledge  sacred  to  you?  Tasked 
you  to  remove  the  string;  you  refused. 
I  ask  you  now  to  play  upon  it;  you  re.- 

121 


TH  E     FIFTH      STRING 

fuse,"  and  she  paced  the  room  like  a 
caged  tigress. 

"I  will  watch  to-night  when  you 
play,"  she  flashed.  "  If  you  do  not  use 
that  string  we  part  forever." 

He  stood  before  her  and  attempted  to 
take  her  hand;  she  repulsed  him  sav 
agely. 

Sadly  then  he  asked:  "And  if  I  do 
play  upon  it?  " 

"  I  am  yours  forever — yours  ^through 
life — through  eternity,"  she  cried  pas 
sionately. 

The  call-boy  announced  Diotti's  turn; 
the  violinist  led  Mildred  to  a  seat  at  the 
entrance  of  the  stage.  His  appearance 
was  the  signal  for  prolonged  and  enthu 
siastic  greeting  from  the  enormous  audi 
ence  present.  He  clearly  was  the  idol 
of  the  metropolis. 

The  lights  were  lowered,  a  single  cal 
cium  playing  with  its  soft  and  silvery 

123 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

rays  upon  his  face  and  shoulders.  The 
expectant  audience  scarcely  breathed  as 
he  began  his  theme.  It  was  pity — pity 
molded  into  a  concord  of  beautiful 
sounds,  and  when  he  began  the  second 
movement  it  was  but  a  continuation  of 
the  first;  his  fingers  sought  but  one 
string,  that  of  pity.  Again  he  played, 
and  once  more  pity  stole  from  the  vio 
lin. 

When  he  left  the  stage  Mildred  rushed 
to  him.  "  You  did  not  touch  that  string ; 
you  refuse  my  wish?"  and  the  sounds 
of  mighty  applause  without  drowned  his 
pleading  voice. 

4 '  I  told  you  if  you  refused  me  I  was 
lost  to  you  forever!  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

Diotti  returned  slowly  to  the  center  of 

the  stage  and  remained  motionless  until 

the  audience  subsided.    Facing  Mildred, 

whose  color  was  heightened  by  the  in- 

123 


THE     FIFTH     STRING 

tensity  of  her  emotion,  he  began  softly 
to  play.  His  fingers  sought  the  string 
of  Death.  The  audience  listened  with 
breathless  interest.  The  composition 
was  weirdly  and  strangely  fascinating. 

The  player  told  with  wondrous  power 
of  despair, — of  hope,  of  faith ;  sunshine 
crept  into  the  hearts  of  all  as  he  pictured 
the  promise  of  an  eternal  day;  higher 
and  higher,  softer  and  softer  grew  the 
theme  until  it  echoed  as  if  it  were  afar  in 
the  realms  of  light  and  floating  o'er  the 
waves  of  a  golden  sea. 

Suddenly  the  audience  was  startled  by 
the  snapping  of  a  string ;  the  violin  and 
bow  dropped  from  the  nerveless  hands 
of  the  player.  He  fell  helpless  to  the 
stage. 

Mildred  rushed  to  him,  crying,  "An- 

gelo,  Angelo,   what  is    it?     What  has 

happened?"       Bending    over    him    she 

gently  raised  his  head  and  showered  un- 

124 


TH  E     FIFTH     STRING 

restrained  kisses  upon  his  lips,  oblivious 
of  all  save  her  lover. 

"  Speak  I     Speak  !"  she  implored. 

A  faint  smile  illumined  his  face;  he 
gazed  with  ineffable  tenderness  into  her 
weeping  eyes,  then  slowly  closed  his  own 
as  if  in  slumber. 


THE  END 


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